The War against Chaos has recently ended, and Corwin and Dara rule in Amber, with the Black Purge recently begun.
It is a cool spring day, and you are exploring the depths of Arden, when a lovely and hypnotic sound drifts through the trees toward you. You walk cautiously, not willing to disturb whatever could create such beauty, and approach in stealth. After a minute or two, you finally discover the source - it is a somewhat younger man, dressed in a light green tabard over a white shirt and dark green pants. He is somewhat handsome, but unusually large - both tall and muscular. He is perched on a thick tree branch, ten or fifteen feet up from the forest floor. He has a simple wooden flute with him, but the sounds that emerge from it are not simple at all.
A light-hearted melody, cheerful yet not comic, pours from the small pipe in a languid stream - and it has accompaniment from time to time. A bright blue-feathered bird is perched on a branch of a different tree. The man and the bird exchange melodic phrases, harmonizing at times, and seem to interchange at others. He casually swings his left foot back and forth in time with the music.
Mordred stopped and gazed upon the flautist for a time, then closed his eyes to listen for a few minutes. Finally, he said, “That is beautiful. Does it have a name?”
The man stops playing the music abruptly - the silence is jarringly harsh. The man looks embarrassed at being discovered. Leaning slightly, he looks down from his perch, and then back at the bird.
"I do not know the bird's name, milord. It appears to like the song I am writing. I do not mean to intrude on official business - I will leave forthwith." He reaches into a pocket, with practiced ease, and looks to be pulling out a Trump deck.
"Stop... please."
Mordred smiles a tad ruefully at the misunderstanding. "It is I who am intruding upon you and your friend. Pay me no mind I beg of you. I shall continue on my way and you may take up as you were before I interrupted the duet."
The man in the tree looks a little taken aback by the degree of honor Mordred accords him. He reseals his Trump deck and puts it back into his pocket, showing more hesitancy than when he drew it forth. "Thank you, milord. But now that I consider it, I may have been confused about your question. If you meant to compliment my song rather than the bird, I would rather you heard it out - for it is a work in progress, and I would value the opinion of someone who appreciates it. If you would tarry awhile, that is." He smiles awkwardly, giving you the impression that he is someone who is rather unused to conversations.
The blue bird flutters its wings and jumps to a higher branch. It cocks its head as if expecting something from the man perched nearby it.
"Yes I was actually speaking of the melody, and not your friend, though it too is of beauty. In fact, it appears your former audience has grown by one hundred percent... and is eager for more. Won't you oblige us please?"
There is a quirk to his lips, and laughter in his voice, though where it is directed, it would be impossible to say.
The flute player smiles down at Mordred and slides back onto his branch. Raising the flute to his lips he continues the melody. The song contains make natural harmonies, and seems drawn from the very air of Arden. Mordred can almost see the song darting between the trees, like a playful child. The melody continues for a few minutes, during which the blue bird is joined by its mate. As the the song concludes, the birds seem to actually sing along with the flute.
Smiling, the man slides the flute into a shirt pocket. Without warning, the musician suddenly leaps off his branch, catching tree limbs and swings to the ground. From his fluid motion, it seem that this limbs are used to instinctive, flexible motion. The face before Mordred looks content, yet curious. "I thank you for your patience, milord. The composition has no title as yet, and is still a work in progress. Please sir, tell me - what were your thoughts, as you listened to the song? For that, rather than any artificial or synthetic notion of form and structure, is what I believe graces the best of art, in all forms."
He seems to have forgotten his awkwardness in his desire for critique.
Answering the other's seriousness with his own, Mordred replies... "To do proper justice to your offering I'd have to take some time and thought, but I felt moved, as if the spirit of the wood itself were evoked, invited to play, and then left - to tend to other things... I was minded of errant breezes and a springtime sunlight dappling the forest floor through fresh green leaves... briefly, this is where I went in my thoughts. Might I ask if your own were anywhere near? I undersatnd of course that art is a special thing and that each who experiences a work does so in their own way, but I so seldome have the chance to inquire of a creator in the midst of the creative process - I am curious."
The man nods eagerly. "Yes...yes! This presence is what I have had in my mind. I have traveled through Arden recently, and I am seeking the...feeling of it, of the trees and the wind and -" He watches as the blue birds flutter away. The man appears a trifle disappointed, but continues, "-the wildlife. I have only touched the merest glimmer of its influence, but it is an ancient and endlessly powerful world. And yes, milord, you accurately describe the individuality of art. On the other hand, art is also a process of communication, of encapsulating emotions into a fixed form. Where language communicates thought, art conveys the spirit. Art may be perceived uniquely, as the emotions it expresses touch upon different memories in each individual who observes it."
Suddenly, he looks somewhat abashed. "Oh, but I forget my manners, for we have not yet introduced ourselves. My name is Andreas. I am currently staying with the Viscount Mantral, near to the border of Ghenesh. It is a distinct pleasure to meet you." He offers an open handshake to Mordred.
"I am Mordred. It is good to meet you Andreas."
He takes the proffered hand and shakes it, albeit a bit gingerly. It doesn't seem like he is unwilling, but more like 'unused' to such a means of greeting another.
"It is wonderful to hear someone speak so knowledgeably and - what's more - so enthusiastically about their art. I too practice an art, though I'd be the first to admit that those who would agree with me as to its artistic merit are few and far between." He is so carefully not defensive that it practically radiates off of him.
His handshake is powerful, as though he doesn't know his own strength. "You speak very...circuitously about your 'art', milord." Andreas looks somewhat askance. "Is it a topic you feel reluctant to broach?"
Careful not to wince, Mordred matches the grip as best he can and then answeres the query this odd young man has set him... "To put it baldly, I am a Blood Magus. Few care to see it as i do."
Andreas looks at you querulously. "I will confess no more than a passing familiarity with Blood Magic. But I am familiar with some of the more mystical arts," He gently taps the Trump case in his jacket, "so I am not in full ignorance. Do you speak of disputes of doctrine between your order and that of, perhaps, the Church of the Unicorn? Or is this disagreement a more esoteric one of different factions of practitioners?"
He gestures to Mordred, and takes a few steps into Arden, encouraging that perhaps the two might walk together through the Forest.
“Well, it is a problem with the church, yes - but not a large one. There is some evidence that Dworkin himself used Blood Magic in some portions of the church’s scripture. The big problem, really, is people's impressions… There have been a number of evil Blood Mages that have given the art a very bad name. I am constantly trying to work against the impression their foul deeds have left upon the minds of the people.”
Andreas nods understandingly as Mordred speaks. "Really? I am a stranger to this land for the most part. What good works do you perform to sway the hearts of those who will not forgive?"
As the two begin an idle slow-paced stroll through Arden, Andreas seems to be assessing Mordred's form - his style of movement.
"I am sorry to stare. I am an artist in addition to a musician, and was merely considering your form and how best to represent it. I apologize for my rudeness - I am still not quite adjusted to a more...reasonable form of meeting people for the first time. I am very sorry."
Returning the Prince's scrutiny, Mordred says, “Not at all – I completely understand. I have just recently gotten used to how land-dwellers relate to each other, having been born and raised in Rebma, where many things are quite different.”
Andreas raises his eyes in surprise. "'Land-dwellers'? You have spent much time at sea then? I merely meant that I come from a distant place, a land called Avernus. I have spent some little time on the shores and beaches, but hardly any time on boats or in the water." He seems to shudder a little, but just for a second.
Mordred answers, “Rebma is my place of birth – it is a realm close by Amber and second only to it in power and significance, situated beneath the sea. Until just recently I had never left the place, and since then I have been in military camps.”
"I am familiar only in name with Rebma. It seems like it would be a place of iridescent beauty beneath the waves, with light sparkling around in iridescent patterns and the colors of the sea life passing by in a never-ending parade. Is it so? And I fear to show my ignorance, but I would know - how do you breathe?"
"You are correct, though it has its darknesses and depths as well. I can imagine it would be a feast for the eyes of an artist. A shame i cannot bring you there to show it to you, but relations between the land of my birth and the land I have adopted are not well at the moment."
"As to breathing, there is a special quality to the water - within the precinct of Rebma itself, which allows it to be breathed without trouble by those who dwell above. Likewise it can be breathed by those who dwell in the sea. It is truly a manificent effect - one of such precision and broad scope that it can only be natural. I cannot imagine trying to cast a spell of that magnitude."
Andreas nods, but his eyes show a fleeting moment of sadness. "It is a shame - but more for you than for I. I have never seen the swirling waters of Rebma, and thus cannot know what I miss. You, however - not only do you know them quite well, but they are the haunts and sights of your youth, the land of your birth. I know only an unformed desire for it - you know isolation and memory unrequited." He pauses, taking a breath, "If it is not a troubling subject for you, why did you leave the land under the waves? While the relations between Amber and Rebma are larger than one man, is there not room there at least for the family you knew? Surely at least a short visit might be arranged?"
"It does not trouble me, but thanks for your concern. I left to learn of what I thought might be the other half of my family, to adventure and to grow, to see new places. All too soon afterwards, PatternFall came upon us. It may be that a visit could be arranged - in fact, now that I thihk on it, I will try to arrange one for the two of us. Would that be alright?"
Andreas looks both relieved and intrigued. "I would be honored to have such a distinguished guide for my first visit to Rebma. My time is quite readily available - I suspect it is your military duties that will limit our opportunities."
Somewhat hesitantly, he reaches into a pocket, pulling out a card. "I have some minor skills of my own - though doubtless they do not compare to your gift. But I made a dozen or so of these, before I realized that I knew few people who would need them. I trust that you are familiar with Trumps?"
He reaches out, offering the card to Mordred. It is a beautifully drawn picture of Andreas sitting at a window. He is facing sideways - his face more turned to the window. He looks out contemplatively at the clear and brightly-lit sky. His red hair is slicked straight back and neat. He is depicted wearing light leather armor, the colors dark red and light red. He carries a fencing saber with an ornately-wrought silver grip, held in a black leather belt. The image seems to leap out from the card at Mordred - its power and depth evident.
Mordred gazes upon it with evident pleasure, almost devouring the work. "I have seen such, and heard more, but never one of this... vitality. It is lovely." He looks directly at Andreas and says, a tad more formally, "You may or may not be aware of this, but in Amber, these are as rare as Blood Magi. Are you sure you wish to give this to me so freely at this point? I can of course promise a favor in return of commensurate value, to be agreed upon mutually by both parties or an outside moderator if you so desire. I keep my word." He looks a little uncomfortable, as if he hates saying what he is saying, the distance it puts up between them, but feels he must.
Andreas smiles wryly, almost breaking out in laughter. He cranes his neck a bit, and looks at the image of himself in Mordred's hand. "Yes, these are rare in Amber - as there is nobody there who knows of me, let alone someone I would be interested in speaking to." He chuckles slightly at his own joke. "You speak more of the value of the object itself as an artifact - the gift is really trust, not this object. After all, it is really as much a vulnerability as it is a tool."
He pauses, and takes in a long breath. "You are a man of good spirit, strong intellect, and noble character. I make no sacrifice in this presentation - I enhance my own situation as much as yours by gifting this to you. But, if you still feel a need to reward me for this action - your intention to allow me to tour Rebma in your company is more value to me than you may guess. Long have I heard of the underwater kingdom, and marvelous must be its sights. To travel their under the guiding hand of a native - it is an honor for me, and a privilege I did not think possible."
Putting away his case of trumps, he seems to relax some more. "But come. Surely good friends will do many favors for each other, perform many services and offer many gifts. The nature of friendship is not to keep a tally, but to trust that a friend will help where needed and share happiness as it is found. Do not trouble yourself with balances and accounts."
As his companion speaks, Mordred's eyes seem to tighten a bit around the corners, and then - finally, slowly, relax. He allows some of the relief mixed with disbelief come out in his voice as he says, "My, you really are not from about here at all are you?" He grins - more openly than he ever had before, "Trust, friendship, equality - these are all virtues of questionable status in Amber. Not highly regarded, nor hardly ever given much more than lip service. I accept your offer of all three, and return with my own. We shall go to Rebma, as soon as I can get in touch with some people there. I'd love for you to meet 'Aunt' Vialle."
Andreas cocks his head somewhat peculiarly. "I suppose I am not 'from' here, even though it is the land of my heritage. I can only hope I do not learn the customs as you have." He returns Mordred's open grin. "I look forward to our journey together. Contact me," he says, nodding to the trump card, "when all the arrangements have been made."
"Really? I am a stranger to this land for the most part. What good works do you perform to sway the hearts of those who will not forgive?"
Mordred replies, "I have been very active in the military, both at PatternFall and since, primarily under Benedict, acting as an infantry lieutnant. unfortunately this has taken a large amount of my time, though I do feel that at least within Benedict's troops, I am seen differently than is the norm. I have been able from time to time to make things easier for our side - and more difficult for the opposition - with my talents, which has also helped."
Andreas listens attentively, and raises an eyebrow a little when Mordred speaks of his work with Benedict. "So your art is, in your case, more of a martial art? Again, I am unfamiliar with your school - is this a common usage of your gift?"
“Actually, no. I acted as a common soldier, swinging my blade with the rest, although I do have quite a few ideas as to how to use the Arts Magical in wartime, thus far there has not been much openness to hearing my views on the subject. Still, when I was able, I would cast a spell or two to aid where I thought I could.”
Andreas nods in agreement. "There is nothing 'common' about being a soldier, you know. It is an act of courage, heroism and loyalty to wield arms in service to the country. I would dare suggest, however, that even though your service was noble, it might have been thought...inefficient, perhaps."
Absently, the artist kicks a stone through the trees. "Certainly there are enough men willing to wield a sword that you might have brought your rarer gifts to the field more often?" he asks absently. "Or are there a great many Blood Mages, and your gift widely distributed throughout the people?"
“My gift is almost unheard of and very rare. Even when it does crop up it is almost always untrained raw talent. This probably is at the root of why those who we do know of in history went bad. The seduction of power, without the discipline of training and schooling in a technique.” Mordred paused, then kept on, a bit ruefully…
“I’d say that those in charge do not yet see the value of what I can do – hence, I intend to show them just how valuable the Magical Arts can be when wielded intelligently, in tandem with command policy. I have been working on developing a number of spells lately, and the next time a conflict arises I shall be ready.”
Andreas nods in agreement. "Military commanders are men of surety and guarantee. If they are not familiar with the ways and limitations of your abilities, you will doubtless not only be not called upon to use them, but you will be criticized for varying from their strategy for the engagement. If you wish the generals to call upon your abilities, they must understand them as much as possible, so that they may rely upon your skills as surely as a blade."
Andreas seems to reassess Mordred, with a more studied eye. He then ventures forth another query. "I am intrigued by this art you speak of. From whom do you learn, if practitioners are few?"
To his first statement, Mordred nods in agreement. In response to his query, he says, "My first tutor was my aunt, the Princess Llewella of Amber, who was around much of the time during my upbringing, being herself part Rebman. Since then, I am unsure - I hope to some day be able to study under the Queen herself, but for now it has been primarily solitary study and practise, along with the occasional shared bit of information with Prince Merlin, sone of the Queen by Corwin. Both the Queen and her son are form the Courts of Chaos, where the 'Arts Magical' have a much better reputation and are more widely studied."
He sighs, "I would give almost anything to be able to travel there and study - even to examine some of the libraries of those that work the Arts there... Imagine generations of well-respected Magi, working together to develop the Art... there must be vast treasures there..." His voice wanders off, his tone getting a bit wistful.
Andreas eyes widen some as Mordred speaks. "You are Llewella's nephew? You are of the Royal Family?" He appraises the sorceror's appearance for a third time, and then momentarily bows his head in respect.
"And yet you serve as a regular soldier in Amber's army, subject to the want and need of their commanders? Most in your position would either relish the ready power available to the House of the Unicorn, or feel more of a weight of responsibility to the realm than a simple foot soldier can adequately bear. You appear to have chosen a strange life, Mordred."
"Well, to be honest, i believe myself to be Llellwella's nephew, and thus a member of the family. she herself said as much, but there is no proof. As I have not to date walked the Pattern, I cannot say for certain. Truly you deserve the respect more than I - your are an acknowledged scion of Amber."
"As to the military, well I had served under King Eric - not against your father, that was before my time - as a member of his bodyguard. Benedict had been kind enough to spar with me on occasion and made it clear that if I wished to be able to do morte than fall upon my own sword with grace i needed some work. When PatternFall came uon us, I merely asked that i be put wherever he deemed I could best serve - as he knew my abilities better than any."
"I will admit to you that I feel he made a mistake in not allowing me to fight as a Magus, but I am in the process of trying to prove to him just what I can do. I served, and honorably, earned the respect of my troops and my commanders. none can say i put on airs or demanded special treatment. That was - and is - very important to me, you understand."
Andreas' face drop, but only subtly. "You are...um...unclaimed? I apologize for any offense, but I am not confident of the correct term for your situation. But the intrigues in Amber are many, I am led to understand. There are probably many reasons your parents have not stepped forward, and none of those are personal, I would guess."
He coughs and looks down at the earth for moment - his eyes perhaps catching on a shining white stone at his feet. "And you may relax, if you worry about my views of the Interregnum and your part in it. Father and I spoke for a long while about Amber, and his goals and intentions both before and after the attack. It happened in the way that it happened because it could not have happened in any other. Things are...," He looks around Arden and the relatively new growth. "...largely for the better now, and I am content with myself, my father, and the events of recent history."
Andreas kneels down to pick up a small broken branch. He studies it briefly and puts it down. "Bear in mind that, especially if your gifts are as rare as you say, you will be accorded special treatment if you become more known for your prowess at the mystical arts than for your battle acumen. It won't be for the reason of birth which you fear - but it may become worse yet, as you will have powers and abilities far beyond those of your former comrades."
The artist pauses, looking contemplative. "On the other hand, to be honest, it is doubtful that your commanders will have a firm grasp on how to best use your skills. Perhaps Benedict has assigned you to more mundane duties in warfare so that you will learn to recognize yourself where your talents may best be applied. Perhaps you are destined for higher things in his mind."
Mordred lets him speak of himself and his father in silence, then responds to the latter part of his words. "Yes, I have no doubt that Benedict has other things in mind for me - and perhaps giving me space to develop my art on my own in my own way is a part of that. He is very deep - I'd never dream of trying to predict anything regarding him. Regardless, that is exactly what I am doing - slowly looking about me and taking notes on what I think would be proper uses of my talents to assist military endeavors. Then - once I have some time, I intend to do a good bit of research and design work upon this new corpus - War Magics."
Mordred then gets a little more somber, saying, "Well, it is inevitable that as I rise up through the ranks even in a purely military manner I will be creating distance between myself and my fellow soldiers. Further, given the long-lifespan of our kind, I'll outlive most of them by a large margin. Finally, whether or not it is 'official', all assume me to be of the Royal Family, so there is another chink in the wall between myself and them. Benedict always says that leadership is a very lonely place... But then the life of a Magus is as well - 90% of the time we are shut up in our libraries or practise chambers. There are prices to be paid for all things..."
Andreas nods. "Yes, all true. A good commander can keep some camaraderie with his soldiers, but as you well know, it is he who must at times order them to actions that have a great chance of costing them their lives. That calls upon loyalty bought with respect as a brilliant and successful leader, not as a drinking companion. Perhaps it is only my second-hand experience that speaks, but it seems that the price of authority is isolation. I fear King Corwin feels that sting all too well these days, as he rarely ventures forth from the Castle, so I am told."
"Agreed. While the isolation does not in and of itself bother me so much, I do not seek a place of high command. Rather, the time could be spent in my library and workroom to more effect." His face gets a little more solemn, thoughtful maybe, "Corwin. He seems such a sad figure, almost one of those 'fated' or 'doomed' figures, who carry upon their shoulders some great destiny - Benedict is another, but not as sorrowful in tenor as our King. I hear he is not yet all that well, still recovering from the trials of PatternFall."
Andreas looks wistful as he speaks. "I met him for a while - once, you know. He had traveled to my father's kingdom and... well, you probably know the details of what they were doing. I much respected and admired Corwin. He is a man of much passion, energy and determination. Indeed, with my memories vivid in my mind, I am more than a little surprised to find him shuttered inside his castle, seeing few and speaking rarely. I fear the weight of the Crown has changed him greatly." The look in his eyes is difficult to read as he gazes through the forest in the direction of the Kolvir and the castle of Amber.
As they walk Mordred thinks, then continues, "I suspect I must find the time to go out into the general populace and do more, perhaps set up a hospice where I can facilitate the healing of the ill as I do our wounded. Can you think of something else perhaps that i have not? An outside perspective is always helpful."
Andreas thoughtfully considers Mordred's request for advice. “I have always believed that people may fear and hate that which they do not know. While perhaps it might be inappropriate to teach your ways to those in the city who are interested, I believe that one of the surest ways of gaining their trust is simply to make yourself, and others of your skills, more available and approachable. While your idea of civic service is a laudable one, it must be done carefully and with an active participation in the community. Otherwise, you might give off the impression of one who helps because he wishes to feel superior and distant."
“Excellent point. Then I’d be working against myself. The last thing I wish to do is to act like one of those ‘Court snobs’ among the older nobility, who do things just because it gives them something to talk about at a dinner party, or an excuse to impress a young lady… I’ll have to think more on this.”
Andreas stops walking and suddenly looks down at the scrub at his feet. He kneels down excitedly and pulls a few small plants from the earth. "Oh, this is excellent! This is lonarialis superior, and I've heard it makes a wonderfully rich blue dye. It's hard to find, but not exactly rare" he explains as he rolls up the plants and puts them into a side pocket. "I am glad you take my counsel to consideration. I'm sure you are a wise man and will come to a good decision." Andreas smiles openly, with a hint of mock condescension.
Mordred watched as his companion picked the herb and wrapped it carefully. As they continued walking, Andreas pauses, and turns to face Mordred. "I actually have few friends here in this land - I would be happy to call you one, if you will, Mordred." There is an awkward silence in the woods for a second that is broken by the scampering of a squirrel down a nerby tree.
“I would be honored, and greatly pleased to count you as one of my friends, here or anywhere. I too have few of them… here or anywhere.”
Mordred was about to bow, but stopped himself and held out his hand to clasp…
Mordred's new friend notices the bow, but doesn't react immediately. When it is offered, he accepts the handshake - his grip is firm and vigorous. "It is good to be well-met. But I am curious. You are a skilled practitioner of a powerful art and a soldier in the service of the land. For all I have said, I am merely a guest in the house of a minor noble some distance away. Why would your first instinct be to bow to me?" His eyes are fully focused - his expression unreadable.
Mordred grins, "To be completely honest? Which I must say i feel the urge to do so with you, unlike many i have met... A few reasons. First, I am as yet un-used to the practise of shaking hands. In Rebma one reaches out both hands to the other and lightly touches fingertips in greeting. I have noticed that a bow is used in both realms however, so have lately been adopting this. Further, I suspect you are of the Royal Family of Amber, and thus more than due such regard as a bow of respect."
"I'd venture to say that, though few are aware of it, anyone of your appearance coming from the Shadow Avernus would almost have to be related in some way to Prince Bleys of Amber. Might he be your father perhaps?"
Andreas turns his head for moment, almost embarrassed. "Yes. I will not deceive you - I am Andreas, son of Bleys. I did not know that the name of my father's realm was so well-known here, otherwise I might not have said it. I have lived my life there, and am only here at my father's request for my safety during these...uncertain times. But even so, I feel rather an intruder to this land than an honored scion. I am residing away from the Castle so as to pass the time I spend in Amber without attracting the undue attention that might be accorded to my name and birth. My host is a good patron of the arts, and many of the theater and musical companies travel there to perform - which is a great privilege they afford him."
The young artist looks more evenly now, "But even if I am a..." The next word forms difficultly for him, "...princeling of sorts, you are greatly invested in the kingdom and its' welfare. As the interloper I am on these grounds you have fought to defend, it is you to whom honor and respect must be shown - even by your relations." Andreas takes a step back and bows deeply and gracefully.
"Bah - there is no need for honors between we two, is there? Let us count each other as 'equal enough' for the time, eh? You are achknowledged, while my birth remains in question. I fought for the realm, while you are new-come here."
He looks at his cousin and says, "Call it even?"
Andreas rises from his bow, a satisfied smile on face. "I believe we may be of a more kindred spirit than blood alone would dictate, Mordred. Indeed, sir - even it is."
He winks with an expression of either amusement or relief, it is difficult to say. "But come now, certainly you had some business to attend to that I have interrupted. Shall we agree to meet again in the future, either for the tour of Rebma or for some dinner or entertainment? You are a soldier, and I should not interrupt your duties for so long."
In the days after the two separate, Corwin's health worsens. Mordred and Andreas do not see each other again until the King's funeral, which Andreas attends, although he avoids the wake. Andreas is accorded more prestige, although he does not seem to desire it, at the funeral than Mordred is. This is probably due to Andreas' standing as Bleys' acknowledged son, while Mordred's own heritage remains more uncertain. After the funeral Mordred is ordered into service by Dara to fight in the Black Purge.
It is not until after the birth of Brennus, that Mordred is given leave by the crown for some rest from his work, and that he is able to invite Andreas to Rebma.