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| June 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 23 2010, 07:18 PM (3,700 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 01:23 AM Post #151 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Mon Jun 16, 2008 3:54 pm Arthur Arthur had not missed the disappointment in Eyla’s dark eyes when he had removed her questing fingers from his bare stomach. It was always the same with this one…Eyla’s continuous plays at seduction when the lady certainly knew Arthur refused to treat her with such disrespect as to objectify her. That was her old life and Arthur wanted better for Eyla. And if he were feeling stronger right now, Arthur would certainly take her to task for her unabashed behaviour. Eyla’s laughter had Arthur inwardly rolling his eyes at her while outwardly, the Commander frowned a bit as he attempted to find a more comfortable position on the bed. His shoulders were now pressed against the wall with only a small pillow to support his lower back; the stitches had pulled in the shift and Arthur pressed a cautious hand over his side. Yet his own discomfort did not stop Arthur from cutting his eyes at Eyla; silently warning her to quit playing games…he was in no mood for them.
However, Arthur could not hold his stern expression as Eyla proceeded to offer a small curtsey, the corner of his mouth curled up as dark eyes flittered at him behind thick locks of her hair. He slightly shook his head at her as if in dismissal of the gesture….as it was surely more a mockery than genuine.
“I am demanding now?” Arthur answered rather dismissively. If he were truly ‘demanding’, Eyla would no longer be employed in his household as she was rather ineffective as a maid. And Arthur being 'Arthur', he completely ignored her comment about his appearance. 'Handsome' was not a word the Roman would use in regards to himself at all. At least Eyla had finally retrieved the requested mug, but instead of immediately handing it over to Arthur she kept the thing in her grasp. Arthur supposed she would expect him to go along with one of her schemes in order to actually ‘get’ the mug from her hand. And he was beginning to lose his patience with her now….
Shameless…indeed! Green eyes had followed Eyla’s slender finger when she had dipped it into the mug and proceeded to suck the liquid from it….again feigning innocence and charm when she most assuredly had none. But Arthur was exhausted, pained, burdened by command and simply unable to succumb to Eyla’s wiles right now. Quite frankly, he had no comprehension as to why she toyed with him so. “Unless you intend on my drinking that from your lips, I will have that water now.” Arthur said in a low voice; emerald eyes turning a deeper shade of green as a hint of annoyance flared up in them. It was as much as he was willing to consent in this wordplay with Eyla….and over such a small thing as a mug of water no less! But instead of a further ploy as expected, Eyla finally offered the mug….but not without a shameless wink of an alluring eye. Arthur reached for it; thick fingers not bothering to avoid her hand as he accepted the water at last. Arthur then proceeded to ignore Eyla while taking a generous drink from the mug. The water was slightly warm, but no matter as the liquid still quenched his thirst. He easily drained the mug and then licked at his lips to catch any remnants there. Contented for the moment, Arthur then turned his green eyes back to Eyla’s pretty face. And she truly was a stunning woman….and had Arthur been any other man….for a brief moment, Arthur’s true vulnerability was visible to her…but he quickly hid it again behind the mask he typically wore for the rest of the world. Arthur had let a very few into his heart, allowed a very few to see behind the wall of strength and pride… …..I do not deserve her affections nor her pleasures. My heart is a complicated and broken thing. Yet I would be her equal in his eyes. “Eyla,” Arthur began with a sigh as he extended the now empty mug back to her. He also allowed his head to rest back against the wall and attempted to relax; perhaps foolishly believing Eyla would now halt with her act of seduction. And Arthur was certain it was all a game to her. “Surely you have better things to do with your time than holding vigil at my bedside,” Arthur said while allowing his eyelids to slide shut. “Cleaning perhaps?” He added; one eyebrow arched and the corner of his mouth curved up into a small smile for her. But Arthur did not re-open his eyes. Instead, he bent his right leg opposite his wounded side and scratched at some random itch on his ankle. The Commander’s body ached seemingly everywhere and his eyes were burning as if the fever had returned. A small groan rumbled his chest and throat as Arthur silently cursed his poor condition. Derfel No doubt they were all about to be run off again as Lancelot’s escort carefully eyed each and every one of them. It was after all the infirmary and thus it was Lavinia in ‘command’. Derfel still gave a curteous smile to the sister, but that quickly dissipated as Lancelot spoke at him.
“I do look in on my friends too, ya know…” Derfel readily answered, but he had to work hard to keep sarcasm from dominating his tone. He gave Lancelot a toothy grin despite the fact that the dark knight had already turned his attentions elsewhere. He then turned to meet Lucius’ gaze and promply rolled his eyes at Lancelot’s back. Oh Derfel had finally learned some respect for the First Knight in recent weeks….but they were not on a battlefield right now and Lancelot was not exactly being friendly either. Bors then made a sound; apparently awake again and luckily drawing attention away from anything Derfel did. He briefly listened to what Lancelot had to say to Dagonet and to what Lavinia had answered as well…sounded like the sister had the knight figured out pretty well…luckily for her.
That was ‘hint’ enough for Derfel. “Come on, Lucius…I’ll get ya that promised drink now and let these men rest, aye?” Derfel spoke rather quietly so as to not interrupt whatever else was being said by Lancelot and Dagonet. The younger knight gave one last look to Saoirse, silently reminding the red head that he was around should she need him….or so he hoped she understood. And so without another word and before Lavinia got after him, Derfel turned and headed towards the front door with Lucius in tow. They could have a few mugs of ale and then Derfel could do exactly what Lancelot had quipped about moments ago…get back to taking care of Linnesse and Linnette….whether Linnette liked it or not. The rain seemed to have let up a bit Derfel noted as the two men headed across the open courtyard and straight for the entrance into the tavern. But the air was still heavy with moisture and chilling to the bone. Derfel tugged his overcoat a bit tighter before reaching to open the door to the tavern. Inside he easily spotted Vanora’s vibrant head of red hair and then he noted Neeve as well, and the older man (Drake) who had been helping Linnette earlier. But as the knight searched for a decent open table for he and Lucius, Derfel was surprised to see the sisters already ensconced at the end of the bar. Linnesse was up and about! He suddenly felt guilty at taking so long in the infirmary. He motioned for Lucius to follow while quickly making his way to join his lover and her sister. How would Linnette respond to him today? Surely it was painful to see her husband’s friend alive and well when Gedeon had not returned to her….Derfel blew out an anxious breath and stepped up behind the sisters. “Ladies….have you both eaten already?” Derfel asked with kindess and a look of concern for Linnesse. Was she truly well enough to be out of bed? |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:09 PM Post #152 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Mon Jun 16, 2008 7:41 pm Malcus Barbattus and Neeria As a child Neeria had always wondered what it would be like to ride on the back of a horse; a beautiful and majestic animal that she’d only seen in battle. How she longed to feel the wind blowing in her face and through her hair as she rode her horse across her native countryside – free from war and suffering. As she continued to bounce in the saddle with Tristan, Neeria gagged at the childhood memory. She decided that if she lived through this day, she would never get on a horse again. Even though more land could be covered quicker, the woman decided she’d rather walk. Or even run. Oh, how she wanted to run just then.
Malcus chuckled at the knight. Outwardly. But on the inside, the captain was sizing up the man now riding on Tristan’s other side. He’d had little interactions with Mordred but there was something about him that didn’t sit quite right with Malcus. Nonetheless, Malcus would still have an ale with the man in the tavern upon their return. “She’s not worth soiling our gloves for, Mordred!” the captain shouted back over the sound of thundering hooves. “Sub-human she may be, but I do believe she is heading us in the right direction of Merlin’s general location. At least for now,” he added with a roll of his eyes. “We won’t break her bones until we’ve been tricked.” “You wouldn’t trick us now would you, my lady?” Malcus yelled across to Neeria.
“You speak of my whorish mother, sir, as though you know her personally,” Neeria snapped at the man in charge. Her long hair was plastered to her head, her face was dirty and her skin pale as her dark eyes flashed angrily at the optio. Neeria bit her lip to keep from saying more. Oh, how she hated the Roman with the beady gray eyes and thin nose. Malcus’ hand flew from the reins to his mouth to cover his snicker. It wouldn’t do for the optio to see the captain laughing. Neeria pressed herself against Tristan again and closed her eyes, trying to quell the nausea, but that only intensified her sickness. The land in front her came in waves and absorbed all of her senses. As they got closer to the woad camp, Neeria prayed to Orius that Merlin would be gone. Surely he would have led everyone back to the village by now.
Neeria turned her head to Tristan again, so only he could hear. “I have not wronged you, Sarmatian. On that I swear. Once we move around that copse of trees ahead, the camp begins on the other side.” |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:11 PM Post #153 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Mon Jun 16, 2008 7:59 pm Eyla Dignity and conscience were worthless in Eyla’s eyes. She did not live for Reputation or Religion, but rather sought hedonistic pleasure with every breath. In Eyla’s younger years, she had been an honest chambermaid in a large and grand Roman villa, but what had that achieved? Nothing. Her mother had stolen an expensive Lady’s trinket, and Eyla had been blamed, beaten and disowned for it. Was that sweet justice? Eyla looked after herself. Indeed, she did not pity her plight. Quite the opposite, she loved her life and she enjoyed the sweet surrender of the body. Why dwell on argument, or righteousness? It was waste of time, because this world did not rule by fairness or courage. It was a cruel world, and bred cruel people. Eyla was not so naïve. Oh but men…they had used her in the beginning. She had been easy prey once upon a time…but now? She had learnt the talent of manipulation, because she had suffered at the hands of it. The woman could be cruel and relentless in her pursuits of physical completion, and the men could be hard…but as long as they paid well, then who cared for details? Eyla was aware of the risk, the cruel possibilities, but she played anyway. She preyed, she teased, and she seduced…even now… The woman made a mockery of dignity and obedience because…it amused her. Were all wives truly this subservient? This gentle? It did not suit Eyla, she had far too much spirit to be contained in loyalty and faithfulness. The constitution of marriage brought a feline smile to her full lips, because she had slept with married men. She had seen their true desires, such which did not suit the marriage bed. Oh not at all. And she loved it. Let men sate their bodies upon her, because they needed her. And she knew it. The whore watched Artorius with perceptive eyes, and she knew he was growing impatient. It was clear by the frustration on his handsome face, the sharp cut of his deep green eyes. But it encouraged Eyla further. Yes, it was a game. And it would last until he gave in… Soon perhaps?
Oh, not as demanding as he could be. Eyla quite fancied being ordered to drop her skirts and bare her breasts for his tired eyes, and she would do it. Willingly and gladly, because she offered satisfaction. It was true, she cleaned Arthur’s quarters…but she could do so much more. If he desired it, she could be his for a gold penny. The game would be worth it. Eyla nodded at his statement, and smiled mischievously. She had no doubt that Artorius could be demanding. He was a Roman Commander, surely a talent for discipline had been bred into his noble veins? However, he was just a man…and men liked Eyla playful nature. She was much more than a common whore, she was clever. She watched his eyes focus upon her wet finger, and she let it linger against her parted mouth. Her small tongue flicked outwards, a quick and seductive trick, and she closed her eyes briefly. She celebrated this moment.
The Roman’s comment caught her offguard, and she raised one eyebrow. She smiled, her lips creating a perfectly flirtatious smile, and she felt him take the mug from her. It was a strong and impatient movement, and Eyla felt his rough fingers graze the soft skin of her hand. It was…temptation. The touch burnt deep into her wanton skin, and Eyla withdrew her hand to her side, savouring it with a sweet laugh. His comment amused her! It was such a delicious retort that Eyla found herself impressed. Artorius would drink from her lips, and he would enjoy it. He would taste the passion, the youthful energy…and crave for more. All men did. It was expected… She watched him drink from the mug, and her dark eyes dipped to the sight of his hands. Oh, so strong. His masculine fingers wrapped around the cup, and she saw the tension in his knuckles. Arthur’s skin looked dry, worn, and tired…and Eyla tipped her head to the side, frowning slightly. For the first time in her life, she wondered why this man did not have a wife. Oh, wives were good at taking care of men…for men were careless creatures who did not keep safe. And Arthur? Well, a Roman Commander could have his choice of eligible Roman stock…and whores. He need not ever want for nothing… But looking at him now? The man looked weary. It was not fitting for such a high status. For such wealth.
Eyla laughed. Her previous thoughts dissipated with his somber words, and she took the mug from his proffered hand. The woman placed it clumsily on his bedside table, cluttering it against the candlestick and empty bowl. Turning back, she placed her hands firmly on her hips, smiling again. Her dark hair down cascaded down over her generously exposed bosom, and her tanned skin glowed in the firelight. She was beautiful, no mere chambermaid, and she did not suit cleaning. Eyla did it for amusement, not for the salvation of her soul. She watched Arthur lean backwards and close his eyes. His eyelashes dusted against his pale complexion, and he smiled slightly. It was enough. “I came here to clean actually, but was otherwise distracted…” she stated matter-of-factly and raised one eyebrow cheekily. The whore turned and looked at the Roman’s room, and audibly tutted in disappointment. The man’s desk was cluttered with papers, inkwells, coins…and the room smelt of leather and sweat. It smelt of…man. Eyla wrinkled her nose, before walking away from the bed. She approached his desk…eyeing it with amusement and disapproval. Eyla touched one fingertip to the wooden surface, and drew a circle in the dust. She spoke again, low and feminine. “If I was a conventional chambermaid Artorius, I would say that you are in desperate need of a wife. Wives are fastidious and boring creatures, but they would clean far better than I…” Eyla spoke brazenly. She curled a dark piece of hair around her finger, and drew it across her mouth, sucking it. Deep in thought. Indeed, wives did not clean, they had servants…but Eyla found the idea amusing… The woman paused. She had an idea, and it delighted her. With a swish of skirts, she turned back to the bed and approached Artorius’ side. Eyla’s dark eyes sparkled with intent, and she touched the Roman’s hand. Gently. Her tiny fingertips slid between his masculine knuckles…and she massaged his hand, looking to his eyes for approval. And whispered. “…But because I am simply a common whore, I implore you. My hands are adept at massage and the masculine body. Let me soothe your tired limbs…Let me please you...” What did she intend? To knead and soothe his tired muscles with her hands. Eyla’s hands were…skilled…so to speak… |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:13 PM Post #154 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Tue Jun 17, 2008 1:40 am Cáel
"Two daughters, yes. I daresay I don't anticipate my children to remember me - even the eldest was a small child then," he replied, briefly using a down-turned palm to illustrate the height. His tone was apologetic, thick with emotion. He gave Darya a sad smile. "I meant to write more often than I did...but it was far too painful. I did not want to disrupt the little ones' lives, especially while I was not certain how long I'd be away..."
The Goth chuckled sardonically. "Oh, forgive me for prattling on. I do not wish to monopolize your time for too long, m'lady," Cáel said, grinning abashedly. Overhead the skies marginally parted from rain, the sun shining through in intervals. Cáel's skin seemed even paler against the palette of warm rays. Yet somehow despite his nearly terrifying appearance, his eyes were warm, his smile was charming, and he seemed entirely approachable. "I believe I might just remember the way after all..." the man offered, leading Darya in the direction of the fortress where most of the common folk resided. Despite never having been to Badon before, Cáel did know the way. Long hours he had endured listening to guilt-embodied Gabriel. Even if the fort had changed, the Goth was positive it had been nothing too drastic that he wouldn't be able to navigate it efficiently. His eyes darkened in thought as his mind conjured up his former lover's memories one by one, using them as guidance. "Ah - here we are," he announced as they came to Gabriel's humble abode. Everything about it fit the description - Cáel knew he was not mistaken about the residence, and yet as he stood at the ajar door, he looked puzzled. He reached out just with his fingertips and slid it open to peer inside. He was silent, assessing the moment with a jumble of emotions intertwined as he entered. Cáel's frowned - the home was clearly neglected, not a sprite of cheer anywhere to be found. And, the smell - horrid - like something or someone had died. His brow creased in horror, and his cool demeanor was dampened by slight panic - but not for the reasons Darya would suspect. His plan...ruined. His money... "Gone..." he murmured grimly, rubbing a hand across his crumpled forehead. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:14 PM Post #155 |
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Author: Kay Date: Tue Jun 17, 2008 9:27 am Guinevere
Guinevere and Mona had moved nearer to the gate, watching the group of riders as they moved away. "I know" she said. "That much is obvious"
The Woad princess looked at Mona; the girl would not easily be able to slip out of the gates unchallenged, this was true. Guinevere pulled the cloth further over her face, and steeled herself.
"I will divert the attention of the guards and you must watch for the chance to slip through the gate; and you will have to do something with your packs. We can't leave them where they will easily be found" Guinevere spotted the pile of horse manure stacked up beside the stables. "Bury them in the dung" she said to Mona. "I'll go and cause a disturbance" Without waiting for a reply, the Woad princess straightened up and, adopting a heavy limp, walked across to the gates. A trader, pulling a hand cart stacked high with apples, was just entering the fortress. Guinevere hobbled up to the cart, swaying as though unwell; she stumbled sideways and thrust out a steading hand, sending apples tumbling off the cart and bouncing across the ground; several passers-by lost their footing and fell over. The trader started to shout, waving his arms in the air and yelling that his crop would be ruined. The guards on the gates hurried across to help rescue the apples and two of them slipped on squashed fruit. Guinevere hurried by unseen, and then stopped to signal frantically to Mona. What fools these Romans are, she thought as she made her way out of the gates. And as she waited for Mona to join her, she stared out in the direction taken by the group of riders. We're on our way, Neeria. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:16 PM Post #156 |
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Author: linnet Date: Tue Jun 17, 2008 8:24 pm Juna Her euphoria of the morning had been worn away, bit by bit, as Juna walked with the decimated Woads back to the village. Some of her high had washed away with the earlier cold winter rain. It had left her body chilled, her feet and ankles coated in mud, numbly sharing the space in her ruined shoes with more mud. She had wrung the rain water from her long thick black hair so many times, it wanted to fall over her shoulder in a twisting spiral cascade even now that the rain had eased. But it wasn’t only the physical discomfort that had eroded her joy. She was used to being cold and wet, and she was sympathetic to the fact that all of them making this trek were suffering the same assaults from nature. What was wearing Juna down was the pace. It was so slow. Of course it was slow. She understood first hand that many were injured, either needing help, or managing haltingly on their own. And she continued to keep an eye on those in the most danger, stopping to aid them as needed. But when she wasn’t occupied that way, she found herself twice at the head of the column, wanting very much to keep on at her natural, long-legged pace. She had to force herself to hold up, wait for the long line of people to engulf her, and try to walk much slower. And when the army of Woads had once more swallowed her, it seemed as if the moving tide threatened to erase her identity. She still felt alone among them, and she knew it was her own fault. Now that Merlin had given her the only reason that could have made here stay, she couldn’t remain so socially isolated. She was determined to change, but didn’t know how. It was only when Merlin walked with her that Juna felt at ease. Her body relaxed, and she easily fell into step with him. The feelings of anxiety seemed foolish, and she blamed them on being cold and tired and anxious to get to the village. It didn’t matter if they just walked in silence together. His presence nearby was enough to take away some of the chill, and all of the old unwelcome feelings of alienation. Naturally he couldn’t stay with her much of the time. He remained constantly aware of everything affecting his people as they trudged on. He shepherded them and encouraged them. He knew each and every one of his followers. Juna couldn’t even imagine how he could do that. When Merlin detoured off into the trees, Juna forced herself to hold up. She didn’t want to once again outdistance everyone, and she also was curious about what Merlin had seen. She didn’t approach where he had gone, just stood and observed from a distance. After a while, she was able to see that he was speaking with a pretty, but rather wild looking young woman. Juna was accustomed to years of watching from afar as Merlin carried out Woad business with males and females alike. She wondered idly if other women saw him as she did. How could they not, she thought with sly amusement, before banishing such out of place wool-gathering. The two Woads spoke for some time before rejoining the moving column, then walked together a ways. Juna stayed behind, respecting their privacy. A short time later, Merlin fell back and rejoined Juna. She looked at him questioningly and was about to ask him what the woman’s name was. It seemed a small step in her effort to grow closer to the people she lived among. Besides, the red-haired woman had piqued Juna’s interest. Maybe because she had gone off alone, away from everyone else, and even now walked ahead of them paying no mind to any of her brethren. But Juna never asked her question, as Merlin clearly but silently indicated that the woman had him worried. Instead, she comfortably matched her pace to his, and asked him an unrelated question that had been troubling her. “What becomes of the bodies of your warriors who died in the fort and on the battlefield? What do the Romans do with them?” She was thinking particularly of Eala’s brother. It was a strange thing to be concerned about for Juna. Gawain Gawain watched in utter stupefaction as Galahad dumped the contents of his coin pouch on the table. “What is all that shit?” he asked, laughing out loud. His laughter intensified as a friggin acorn rolled off the table and Galahad went after it as if it were a gold nugget. The blond knight felt a little guilty about forcing his drunken friend to buy the round. But the entertainment value was well worth it.
Still laughing as the younger man successfully retrieved his lost possession, Gawain shook his head. He might as well have been giving advice to a brick. Two things were apparent. One - Gawain would have to spend the rest of his day with Galahad, keeping him out of trouble until he either sobered up or fell asleep. Two – any more purchases would have to come from his money since the remaining items in Galahad’s pouch were not going to buy anyone anything. The older knight was about to tell his friend to finish his stew so they could leave. Gawain hadn’t decided where they’d go, but anyplace with fresh air and no ale would be good for starters. Instead he glanced to the side as an approaching person caught his attention. He took a deep breath when he realized who it was.
Gawain gulped a quick last spoonful of stew and grabbed his nearly full tankard, as he stood up. “Alina,” he said nodding at her, gesturing toward the seat he had just vacated. “Sit down. I was just leaving.” He turned toward Galahad and frowned, trying to warn the drooping knight to stop pouting. It looked hopeless, but Gawain wasn’t about to stick around in the middle of this. He started to walk away, then turned back after a few steps and set his drink down on the table. Reaching once again into his dwindling stash of coins, he took out enough to cover food and a drink for Alina, plus a little more. “What I owe you for the last round,” he lied to Galahad, leaving the money on the table. He picked his drink back up and gave Alina a little smile. “Don’t let him forget his acorn,” he told her, and walked away. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:17 PM Post #157 |
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Author: Kayla Date: Tue Jun 17, 2008 9:11 pm Fiona Sleep had come easy for Fiona. The fact that she wasn't even in her bed hadn't bothered her at all, after she and Adian had talked a little while. They had also kissed, something that her mouth had tingled from, as well as her stomach from the unfamiliar actions and feelings coursing through her - she had been too shy and nervous to suggest, let alone literally do anything further and after a while, had fallen asleep on his bed. Now, she was fully awake, her body sprawled across the covers and her eyes blinking the sleep away. She turned her blue gaze around the room, taking in the sight of it around her and almost forgetting for a moment that she was in Adian's room, especially when she didn't see him there. She briefly wondered where he had gone and when he had left - obviously, he'd let her stay asleep and the woad was happy about that. But, she still had to wonder when he was coming back and if she should go ahead and leave or not. She wasn't someone that liked to impose, and falling back asleep and remaining in his bed for the rest of the day and night (no matter how tired she felt in that moment) probably wasn't the best idea. What was a good idea, however, was to fill her now rumbling stomach. Lifting a hand lazily to her face, Fiona brushed the stray strands of hair away from her face in an almost childish manor, the bed cradling her body weight in a comfortable manor that for a moment, she almost didn't want to get up. But, she had been there since early this morning and it was time for her to get out of the room, and hopefully get some food, maybe see Vanora as well. Pushing herself, she slid to the edge of the bed, her feet on the floor and her body lifting itself up as she turned back to look at the covers, which had gotten messed up in the process of her resting. Reaching out deftly, she straightened them, pulling the edges tight around the corners of the bed until it looked as it had before, when she had first came into the room to comfort the man she called her friend. What they were now, she wasn't sure. Yes, the kissing had briefly happened, but she was still young and inexperienced as to what would even come next or what she wanted to come next. Maybe it was best not to dwell on it. Nodding her head gently to herself, Fiona decided that that was the course of action she would take, at least for the next few hours. Her head was spinning as she pulled her cloak tighter around her body and headed out into the cold. It was a short distance to the tavern and her pace was clipped, short, quick steps and she arrived in just a matter of minutes, entering the building and looking around for a minute. She spotted a few people that she knew, including Gawain, Galahad and Alina, all at one table as well as many other people that she did not know, all scattered at different tables. Her original intention had been to sit down, eat and then leave - to do what, she wasn't sure but she was more prone to deciding things last minute. It would have all gone fine if she hadn't passed by so closely to a couple of soldiers sitting near the door, their voices registering in her ear, over the hum of everyone else in the tavern talking. All it took was them talking about a woad being in the dungeon - as for which one it was, Fiona was clueless - for the woad's attention to be caught immediately. There was one of her people stuck in that horrid, rank dungeon? She herself had spent some time down there, not much but just long enough to know that she never wanted to go back. And even if she was no longer with the woads, it didn't erase her concern for whoever was down there. Pursing her lips in concentration, she turned around, exiting the tavern and moving in an unsteady direction, trying to remember the location of the dungeons and still wondering at the same time who it was stuck in the place. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:19 PM Post #158 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Wed Jun 18, 2008 12:48 am Fleur The little blonde girl pouted childishly as Lucius departed with the fair-haired man. She was not offended to be ignored, nor did she think badly of the man - oh no - she was merely disappointed. "Hmm..." she hummed out quietly, then promptly decided she'd find him again later. Perhaps later he wouldn't be too busy and would speak with her. That thought brightened her spirits. Fleur didn't understand the way of adults, or the reasoning behind often being lost in the shuffle of their world, but unlike her sister, she did not necessarily feel abandoned because of this. For someone so young, Fleur was rather self-reliant. She enjoyed company and conversation, but she was also quite adept to playing independently. As a child, Fleur naturally had the tendency of compiling high expectations toward random attachments, but in all actuality, she asked for very little. Selflessness came as second nature for her.
Fleur perked up at the mention of her name, and eagerly she looked around for the person who had summoned her. She recognized the old healer, Lavinia, from earlier, and happily bounded toward her. She tripped on the hem of her new green dress and ungracefully crumpled to the hard infirmary floor. She crouched and rubbed a hand over the soreness in her knee, before bouncing back to her feet and hurriedly rushing to catch up with Lavinia. "Don't worry, I'm ok!" Fleur declared, grinning sheepishly. Her blue eyes widened hopefully then. She was more than eager to please. "Can I help you with somethin' today? I can do somethin' cuz I'm seven now, y'know." Ash After leaving Mona and Guinevere, Ash had spent a long while hidden in shadow near the dungeons, mulling over his plan, perfecting it. There was no room for error on this mission. The responsibility he endured had honestly been self-inflicted - he had sought this course of action - therefore he felt no burden from the weight of expectation. If Ash succeeded, Eala would be restored to her family. If Ash failed, he would pay with his own life. Perhaps if Artorius Castus was as merciful as fools had claimed, Eala would be spared. As for him, there would be no bartering for his soul. Ash had made his peace with the Gods long ago. He feared not death. A figure nearby suddenly moved toward the dungeons, cautioning Ash out of his relaxed state against a wall and into a defensive stance. He blithely disregarded the stabbing sensation in his flank. He had felt the stitches give out earlier, having forced the Woad into administering medicinal techniques onto himself. Eala's leather wrist straps were once again serving him, packed in tightly against the wound to help halt bleeding. The soiled bandaging was loose about his torso, but luckily holding. His brow furrowed in consternation, his dark eyes boring a hole into the back of the cloaked figure ahead of him. The rain had tampered off, the skies parting, clearing the grimness of the day considerably. He stealthily trudged along the wall, curiously tracking the small stranger. He was close enough now to recognize it was a woman, but it wasn't until she stopped in mid-step and nervously surveyed her surroundings that he was astonished to be able to identify her. Fiona. Bloody fucking Fiona. Traitor youngest daughter of Merlin. Ash cursed obscenities under his breath in his native language, growing more anxious with every step she strayed toward the prison. What the hell did she think she was doing? She was going to endanger this mission for him! He had to stop her, and he had to do it now. With a deep breath, the Woad swooped in like a bat out of Hell, clamping a firm hand over Fiona's mouth and snatching her into the dimness of an alleyway. He flipped her about face, slamming her lithe form back against the wall, his palm still firmly silencing her as he threw frantic glances down either side of the alley, making sure no one had seen and followed them. He stared pointedly at the younger Woad then, his eyes filled with loathe and contempt. "Don't even fucking think about screaming, Fiona. Eala and Neeria are being held captive by your Romans. Guinevere and two others are searching for Neeria; I've come for Eala. You will not get in our way," Ash warned, then dropped away the offending hand from her mouth. His other hand kept one of her shoulders pinned to the wall. His wound was torturing him, but he refused to allow her to see how he suffered. He would not show his weakness to the enemy. He licked his lips, his eyes distant in thought a moment. Suddenly he had an epiphany. "You'll help me," he said. It had not been a question. Ash yanked her away from the wall and shoved her ahead of him. "Get down into the dungeons and distract the guards. Do whatever it takes to make them follow you outside. If you fail us, I promise I will expose you for what you are. See how kindly your Romans treat you then, Woad," he spat, acid dripping from his voice. "Go. Now." Ash was not a bad person. He simply was unforgiving. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:20 PM Post #159 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Wed Jun 18, 2008 7:52 am Merlin
Merlin eyebrows raised slightly in response to the question as he looked over sideways at Juna. A strange thing to ask now...had it been troubling her for a while? Not that he minded answering- but it was a sobering topic no matter how you looked at it. The Woad leader dropped his eyes to the ground as he took another step over a small rock in the path, then raised them to Juna again. "They bury them. All in a pit together. Or sometimes they burn them- depending on what seems easiest. Either way, they rest with each other and with the earth." Merlin said the words straightforwardly- there was no point in hiding the ins and outs of it- but to the perceptive ear, there was indeed sadness in his voice. Merlin had lost so many- relatives, friends, even enemies to the Romans, but they had all been his, his people, and now they were gone. Gone to the Gods, at the hands of the Enemy. He could remember all their faces vividly did he choose to conjure them up- every detail. His mother's laughing smile, the crinkles around her eyes; his first wife's silky blonde hair; his second son's singing voice, which everyone had remarked on the beauty of; the stern strength and dertermination of Donnchadh, who had died only days ago. It was all part of Merlin, indelibly, and it swirled and eddied around his mind even when he was not thinking of it, until it hardnened and tamped itself down into the burning ball of desire-for-revenge that was the Woad leader's heart. All of them- all of them would be avenged- someday. "The Gods keep them," he added softly, his eyes staring straight ahead, as if seeing something that others could not see. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:21 PM Post #160 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Wed Jun 18, 2008 9:15 am Brendyn Tatiana, my friend, I hope you do not think badly of me....God above! First I try to seduce you, then I just leave you to stand in the infirmary with the crabby nun...I have treated you so badly that it would be a miracle if you ever forgave me... The young soldier threw the filth laden water into the proper place, refilled the bucket and replaced it where it belonged. Damn he was such a heel toward the one woman who had worked her way under his skin since Veronica. Tonight, he'd find her out and ask her if she'd take him back. Was even fair to think of wedding her so soon? Soldiers rarely got married, as they had always felt it unfair to leave a wife and child, or children without the chance of returning to them... Everytime he thought of Tatiana, he could almost feel her lips brushing his like they had that first night...had it only been last night? The wound under his arm had remained stitched, but was beginning to ache a bit. Perhaps he'd go after a bath tonight and have the bandage changed. Maybe Tatiana would come back and look for him? Or was she even thinking of him at all? |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:27 PM Post #161 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Wed Jun 18, 2008 2:32 pm Saoirse
Saoirse tried not to look at anyone. She felt crowded and from the tension in Dagonet's body he felt it too. The pressure was building inside of her, the upset and the disturbed feeling that she was part of Dagonet's breakdown. Her selfish actions featured strongly in the hurt that he felt - granted the majority of this pain he felt now was losing Gedeon, but on the whole he mourned the loss of another child. The red head did not notice Lancelot's approach until he spoke up - hearing his voice made her teeth ache.
When he spoke her name the Irish woman tossed her head, flaming red hair bristling over her shoulder. He was sincere but whenever Lancelot was around Saoirse cuoldn't help but feel prickled. Their relationship was by no means strained, but they shared things at times... Lancelot was one of the few people Saoirse would talk to if she was really in need. A thought scrambled around her brain, clinging to her nerves and screaming at her that now was one of those times. Saoirse promptly ignored said screaming voice, giving Lancelot a glower for being the one person she might be able to vent all this upset to.
Saoirse nodded stiffly at Lavinia, not taking her feral blue eyes from Lancelot. Her hand tightened about Dagonet's when the First Knight stood in front of Lavinia and focussed his dark eyes upon them both. Derfel responded to the knight's teasing and Saoirse glanced up to see the Saxon leaving with Lucius. For a moment she looked at both men, feeling bereft of their company for some reason. The emotions burned inside of her, the fear of being alone wiht Dagonet, the want to be alone with him overpowering the fear however. What would happen when they were alone? Would she have to explain to him how she was not coping as well as everyone thought she was? That she couldn't get over her own guilt for taking away Dagonet's daughter when he had now lost his son? "He's farin' as well as can be expected ye lout, an' less o'the 'old' bits." the Irish woman snapped quietly, gesturing a hand towards Lancelot before sniffing and snuggling in closer to Dagonet's side, looking down at him as she tenderly touched her palm to his cheek. "Aren't ye. An' ye can tell Arthur from me tha' he's not goin' out wi' the rest o'you eejits til he's fully healed from this. An' if ye won't tell him tha' from me then I'll tell him meself." Saoirse continued, lying, of course. She had much too much respect for Arthur to be so cheeky to him, or to presume to tell him what he cuold or cuoldn't do with his men. And all the while she kept her eyes downcast, looking at Dagonet - until she finisehd talking. Then she cast a wary eye to Lancelot, her expression cautious, unsure - sad even. Amadeus
The precise, terse, to-the-point sentence from the Scout, coupled with his use of the honourary 'Sir', was all to the positive. Amadeus gave Tristan an assessing glance. So the man was a filthy Sarmatian, he was as hairy as a dog and as scruffy as an ill-kept mule, but he was not as ... irritating as the other Knights.
The little tart! Amadeus did not let his fury show. His head wihpped to the side to look at Malcus whose hand had suddenly snapped up to his mouth and then his head whipped back to Tristan and Neeria, ensuring that they had not been finding anything amusing in what the wench said. Satisfied, Amadeus' shoulders sagged and he gave a perfunctory grasp to his crotch - "Tell me a man on this island that does not you filthy wretch. For all you know, Malcus here could be your damn father." he murmured before kicking his horse onwards, leaving them behind a few feet as he ambled through the impending forest towards the markers she had told him he would find. Drake Drake did his best not to listen to what the sisters were speaking about. Not out of a lack of interest but as a respect of privacy. Besides, didn't he know all that Linnette was to tell her sister? He had somehow become so deeply ensconced in the widow's life in the past few weeks and such attachments always made Drake feel... awkward. Uncomfortable. In the past when such attachments had become apparent, Drake ran. He got out before it got this strong in the past, of course, but that urge, the necessity to not let things progress was burning at the back of his mind as he drained his soup and idly pressed his fingers to the crumbs of bread on the counter top. Linnette got to her feet and Drake's head snapped to the side, watching her with attentive green eyes before realising she was just letting her sister sit. Shoulders remaining tight, Drake shifted on his own stool, intending to let Linnette sit in his seat and he would stand. The need was not apparent however, as Linnette disappeared inside for something to eat for Linnesse. Drake was not aware that the silence between them aught to be broken. He sat rigidly still on his stool, looking down at his empty bowl, aware of Linnesse there, of course, but surreptitiously watching the kitchen door for Linnette's return.
It took a minute. But finally Drake realised that she was talking to him. He glanced over at her with raised eyebrows, a composed look of neutrality upon his rugged features. She was a lithe little thing, tiny even in comparison to Linnette. This sister looked fragile though. She didn't look like she could fire an arrow straight or handle a horse the way Linnette had done when they rode out together a day or so ago. A look of distant recollection washed over Drake's face, softening his hard features a moment before he gave a nod of agreement to the woman's comment. "Yes." he replied, unable to form anything more 'chatty'. It was out of his nature to be chatty... He was saved the trouble by Linnette's return. Drake's entire posture seemed to change when she came back, his green eyes scanned her quickly to ensure her well being and he slid out of his stool, standing at the back of it as he gestured for her to sit, pushing his things out of the way.
It was silly to feel ... eclipsed when Derfel arrived. Drake straightened even more than before and gave the fair-haired man a wary look first, then a courteous nod of greeting before hunching his shoulders forward and leaning on the bar, staring ahead but keeping an ear on what was going to be said behind him. It wasn't that he disliked Derfel... he just felt a strange sense of competition with the man - for what, Drake was unsure. Something his wife had once said to him ambled through Drake's brain... Cecile had said that living with his brothers during the summer months had been awful for her because the three of them had been, undeniably, alpha males. None of them had been able to better the other and so there had always been a feeling of competition between them all, one male trying to better the others in order to be the overall leader. But it was a silly thing to feel that with Derfel. Wasn't it? |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:29 PM Post #162 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Wed Jun 18, 2008 2:46 pm Arthur For a few moments the only sounds that reached Arthur’s ears were the crackling of the flames in the hearth and his own labored breath as he deeply inhaled and then exhaled. The Roman attempted to drift off into a light sleep leaving Eyla to her own accord for now. Arthur still felt a dull ache of pain in his side, but it was not enough to prevent him from rest. And the Commander nearly had fallen into slumber when Eyla’s soft melodious voice broke the relative stillness in the room.
A wife. Arthur’s jaw clenched at the mention of that particular subject. He deserved no wife, no children and no other such rewards for his sins…all the lives he’d taken and all the women and children he’d left fatherless in this world. No, Artorius Castus was not worthy of such a fortune. At least not while in servitude to Rome. Arthur’s life was forfeit; he was a soldier and would follow in his father’s footsteps giving his life in some battle while defending those who could not defend themselves. And lastly, a wife would only become a weakness that he could not afford; a weakness that a cunning enemy would use against Arthur. It had been difficult enough in recent years…protecting Darya and finding his mind distracted in battle over Lancelot’s safety. Loving others was complicated and dangerous. So no, Arthur would not take a wife….not now. And why in God’s name was he wasting his thoughts on this subject? Eyla. Eyla, the harlot that had come into Arthur’s life one dark and stormy night seeking pleasure and patronage…when the Commander had only sought answers. …and then Arthur felt her presence again. Eyla was close enough for him to smell the exotically sweet scent of her hair and hear the soft swish of her skirts as she moved. But Arthur did not open his eyes; he assumed the woman was only busying herself with her duties as his chamber maid. …but then soft petite fingers slid over Arthur’s hand and threaded themselves between his thick digits. And almost immediately those tiny fingers began to knead.....the sensation was surprisingly comforting and actually felt quite good considering the Commander’s hands were still sore from the strenuous sword fighting he’d endured only a few days ago. Was this her idea of ‘cleaning’?
As you had that night? Arthur languidly opened his emerald eyes and looked up at Eyla’s alluring face. Her bronze skin glowed invitingly in the firelight and the Roman found himself recalling the details of the one night he had allowed Eyla to share his bed. In the end, he had treated her with respect by not taking her for his own pleasure….or hers. No, that night had been about something else entirely…and although she never had given Arthur the confirmation he had sought that night, he still saw in Eyla ‘potential’ as a person….value and great strength hidden behind all her womanly wiles and flirtatious games. Yet, he was still certain that Eyla had given….them….something that Arthur never had nor ever could. She had wanted the Roman to dominate her that night and he had no doubt that she had been that for his Sarmatians as well….something that Arthur himself was unwilling to be for either of them. He had given as much of himself over to Lancelot, but it had not been enough. And never would be enough. And with Darya, Eyla had taken something from the Sarmatian’s innocence in Arthur’s eyes and thus indirectly taken from him; and proven once again that Arthur was not the sort of lover that Darya truly wanted. Why? No, I cannot do this now. Green eyes focused on Eyla’s seductive expression as Arthur attempted to shove aside all his personal baggage. “You are far from common, Eyla. And I have not forgotten your unique talents,” Arthur stated firmly although his green eyes remained gentle while he squeezed appreciatively at her tiny fingers. In the Commander’s eyes, she was also no longer a whore and should not refer to herself as such. Arthur prayed that she had truly left that life behind for good the moment he had given her employment to earn an honest wage. Perhaps it was a weakness in his ‘armor’ or foolish nobility, but Arthur thought he had ‘saved’ Eyla with his kindness. He could have easily taken Eyla as a lover, becoming her benefactor as he very well could have afforded such exquisite pleasures as she no doubt possessed. But Arthur wanted something more meaningful than that. And he had attempted to give his heart twice only to feel the bitter pain of betrayal. His head throbbed again, matching the ache in his side. Rest was the only thing the Commander wished for now. “If it is extra coin that you require, take what you want,” Arthur lifted his free hand and briefly gestured towards his desk where he kept a generous amount of money in a small wooden box. Eyla already knew it well, Arthur was certain of that. “You need not pleasure me for pay,” He added with quiet dignity and made to release her fingers in his. Oh Arthur remembered how perfectly sweet and sinful Eyla had tasted, how perfectly God had formed her body and how easily it had been to dominate her…..and praise God that Arthur was not fully himself now; weakened from his wounds and fatigued from battle…or his body might yet respond before his head could take command of his senses. Perhaps Lancelot’s way was the most prudent path after all (as preposterous as that sounded to Arthur)….forego love and commitment for pleasure alone. But that was not Arthur….not how his heart worked. The more he thought on the matter, the more he prayed for the answer to his pains, the more it was becoming clear….serve Rome and serve God. Arthur’s expression surely reflected the seriousness of his thoughts; he made no attempt to conceal it from Eyla. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:31 PM Post #163 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Wed Jun 18, 2008 2:56 pm Galahad Galahad held the acorn between thumb and forefinger, looking down at it defensively before giving Gawain a suffering glower as he slipped it onto the table next to his tankard of ale. He sniffed, also defensively, feigning to be unaffected by Alina's arrival. So what if she was here? So what if she was being all casual and pretending like she hadn't just been all over some old, washed up Knight! So fucking what...
The youngest Knight's head snapped up, his blue eyes betrayed as Gawain made to leave. Accusation was obvious in the man's slightly bloodshot gaze - he thought Gawain was going to help him with this!! Galahad's bottom lip pouted outwards even more and he gave an irritated huff of breath when the blonde kngiht turned tail and left - only to come back a minute later and leave money down. Galahad looked at the coins blearily a moment before shrugging in a disaffected fashion and looking away from both Gawain and Alina. "Sure." he murmured, head snapping up with yet more accusation in them when Gawain made reference to the acorn. Galahad scoffed irritably and picked the acorn up, tossing it towards Gawain but missing him by a long shot as the Knight walked off. He was prickled, irritated and almost ignorant of Alina being there in front of him for a long moment. When he came to, his blue eyes looked into her brown and he felt a tickling along his spine. Goosebumps rose up over his pale skin and he sucked in his upper lip. Giving an indignant huff, Galahad sat back on the bench with his arms across his chest and pouted his lips tightly, looking down at the table, his eyebrows raised. He was determined not to talk first, not to open his mouth but wait for her to admit to what she had just done, prepared for her to tell him that it had been more than a kiss. Galahad's fingers tensed around his upper arms but he held his tongue, resolved not to be the one to break the silence - let her be the one to break it. He was curious to see wat she had to say for herself... would she pretend that nothing was wrong? Would she pretend she hadn't just been half way down another man's throat only a few minutes ago?! "So what do you think of that bedraggled old geezer, Kolya, then?" he slurred out caustically, each word spoken slowly but thickly due to the effects of the third tankard of ale he was half-way through at this stage. Eala Eala was cold. Almost all the fight had gone out of her at this stage. There was a dank drip coming in from the roof that was landing close to her though she huddled away from it in the off-white tunic that had been given to her in the infirmary. She longed for her own clothes, the familiarity of the leather trousers that were shredded now, the familiar itch of her old tunic, the reassurance of having her knife-belt strapped across her chest. Intense black eyes lifted to the ceiling. Eala felt tears prick the edges of her vision and she gave a stifled hiccup, biting her bottom lip to detract from the pain. Oh not the physical! Not the obvious hurts that had been inflicted on her body. She felt the pain of being alone. She was not used to being so utterly alone. Back at her home in the woods there were always people around. Mona, Guinevere, Juna... the men like Ash, Merlin, Nolan ... Donnchadh. Thoughts of her brother made Eala give a protesting squeek of pain, her eyes shutting tight as she turned towards teh wall, her hunched shoulders shaking. She cried a short while but got embarrassed at her weakness. Rising to her unsteady feet, Eala prowled back and forth in her little cell, stamping her feet, slamming her little fist with the doll into her tiny palm repeatedly, glaring with red-rimmed eyes at the door. The ten-year old looked vicious. She looked like an agitated animal, her short blonde hair sticking out at odd angles. Now and then her hand reached down to her thigh where one knife was neatly secure. As she prowled she plotted revenge, a terrible revenge, upon the fair monster that had killed her last family member. She would not leave Badon Hill until she had avenged her brother - she would not let his death go unaccounted for. Not like the rest of her family! |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:33 PM Post #164 |
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Author: Kayla Date: Wed Jun 18, 2008 7:59 pm Fiona Fiona had no idea if she was going the right way or not. It had only been a matter of days since she had been taken to the prison but still, she had not paid much attention to her surroundings much and was relying on only what she did remember, which wasn't much. Every once in a while she would stop and look around, taking in everything around her to see if something sparked her memory, which it did eventually, and she started more assuredly towards the prison. It would have been so easy for her to get lost, and only the feeling of someone grabbing her made her stray away from that little lone thought that she might get herself lost and never find her way back to the tavern again. A bit out there, perhaps, but she wasn't as familiar with everything in Badon as the residents were, naturally. The feel of a hand clamping over her mouth took her by surprise, though, silencing any scream she might have tried to let loose, even though it seemed no one was around - or not that she had noticed anyway, after putting all of her effort into trying to figure out if she was going in the right direction. An overwhelming sense of fear swept over her, instinct telling her to fight but before she could even try, her body was slammed up against the wall and the woad focused her vision on the person in front of her, her eyes immediately opening largely as she took in the sight of Ash. His hand still encompassed the surface of mouth, preventing her from saying anything to him, especially the question lingering on her mind as to what he was doing here. The look in his eyes made anything she might have tried to say lingering and she longed to remove herself from his other hand, which pressed her into the wall as he answered her unasked question as to why he was here.
Clearly he wasn't someone that supported the fact that Fiona was now living in the fort among Arthur and his people. Not that she expected him to either. It had been a decision that was in no way common among the woads - after all, who would want to live with the 'enemy'? The adrenaline rushed through Fiona's body and she looked up at him, confusion written all over her face as she ran his words over and over again in her mind. "I wouldn't ..." Her voice came out shaky, weak and she shook her head, almost about to say that she wouldn't get in their way but of course, a mountain of questions came flooding into her mind, all of which she was wanting to ask. But, Ash intimidated her, even when she had still been with the woads and she wasn't willing to test however much patience he had with her right now, especially when he viewed her as someone that could get in the way of the mission he was on to get little Eala. And in truth, she could. It didn't mean she wanted to, though. Even living in the fort, Fiona still felt some sense of responsibility to her people. She hadn't liked the fighting, but maybe there was some way that she could still be loyal to them, even if it wasn't flat out running around with a sword in her hand.
Fiona was yet again taken by surprise when Ash pulled her away from the wall and then pushed her ahead of him, instructing that she would help him. For a moment, she almost put up some form of protest but one look behind her and into his eyes was all it took for her to squash down that thought and know that he was dead serious that she would help the mission. What he told her to do, though, made her nervous, almost as much as the thought of what would happen to her if she didn't do it. Ash didn't lack in the area of making her feel nervous for whatever was going to come but she still kept her mouth closed and her head bent down, almost as if in submission to what he was saying, knowing it was better to just do what he said, especially with his threat lingering in the air. It was in this moment that she decided that she would be willing to help him and not put up the protest still lingering. It wasn't like she had a choice in the matter, or so it seemed, but maybe it was a way of helping her people even while living at the fort among the enemies. And the thought of Eala being down there in that horrible dungeon made her want to shudder as well, furthering her resolve to do what he had told her, even though the manor that he had asked wasn't something particularly liked, due to the fact that she didn't much like anyone telling her what to do, let alone someone that seemed to dislike her. "I won't fail," Fiona spoke quietly and cautiously, as if she didn't know whether it would be true or not. She cast a glance towards him, her facial expression hinting at different emotions running through her, before she moved away from him, going back in the direction she'd been headed and towards the task he'd set for her to do, the one that she had to complete to keep her secret away from the residents of the fort. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 03:36 PM Post #165 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Wed Jun 18, 2008 8:45 pm Tristan
Tristan merely grunted at that, a clearly skeptical, throaty sound, and continued on, once more ignoring Amadeus’s pointlessly lewd banter from beside him. Trading insults was to no purpose- they needed to watch and listen, and the scout didn’t think much of the Optio if he didn’t understand the need for that. Mordred, at least, riding slightly behind with Barbattus, seemed disinclined to join in the chatter- and Tristan found himself rather grateful for that. They were going slightly downhill now, the path sweeping by in a curve under their feet, with still no scouts in sight or hearing, and the pulse of worry and danger beat harder and harder in Tristan’s chest until suddenly…they were there. They had broken out into a more open area, with the rings of fires all around, cold and soaked with rain, and a few sad huts under trees and bushes- and no one human in sight. It was the camp- it had to be. Tristan could see through the trees ahead of them and to both sides the evidence of other fires and huts, going on some distance into the forest- a sizeable host had stayed here. But they were gone. “Damn.” Muttering a curse to no one in particular, Tristan pulled Tirgatao to a halt in the center of the clearing, casting his eyes around above and to all sides, searching once more for signs of Woad scouts. It was some trick- it had to be! But though every fiber in him cried out that this could not, could not possibly be all there was to this place, he had in the end to believe the evidence of his senses. No scouts here. No ambush party. No one hiding in the trees, waiting to shoot and kill. Deserted. “Stay there.” He clamped a hand momentarily down on Neeria’s shoulder, urging her silently not to move, and vaulted to the ground behind her. It was a risk, leaving her like that, but admittedly he was counting on her fear of the horse keeping her from doing anything rash. Tirgatao was a good lad- he would stand. But still, he didn’t want to have his hands off her for long. Every sense still pricked alert, Tristan covered the distance to the nearest campfire in two long strides, then stooped to pick up a stick and poke at the ashes. Cold- soaked through. Nothing had burned here for several hours, at least. There were footprints, too, in the mud around the firepit, imprints of feet in the kind of boots that the Woads wore, but they were indistinct now, nearly washed away by the rain in most cases, or filled by standing puddles of water. Tristan straightened up, half his attention still on Neeria, but before he could report anything to the Optio, he caught a glimpse of something else- two feet just barely sticking out from behind a bush not too far away, against the wall of a small hut. Tristan instantly snapped alert, his hand going to his sword hilt and unsheathing his blade in a smooth motion- but the feet did not move. Whoever it was was lying on his or her back, motionless. Turning his back on Neeria, who was now the lesser threat, and with every sinew alert, Tristan advanced, his blade held before him. He threw only a significant glance the other three men, not wishing to alert whoever-it-was to his approach by sound- but when he rounded the corner of the bushes, he saw that there was no need. The owner of the feet was dead, his head, in fact, lying beside his body, completely severed, its eyes glazed and staring at nothing, wet with rain. But someone, someone alive, was in the hut nearby. Tristan knew it without even consciously hearing or seeing anything, just somehow felt the presence of living flesh. So this was the trick, maybe- the moment when armed Woad warriors would spring out and he would feel an arrow in his back. Expecting, indeed, to feel it any time, but not exactly afraid- for what was his life worth, anyway? If he were to die, perhaps he would be with Percival- Tristan cautiously poked aside the flap of deerskin that covered the doorway of the hut- and found himself gazing, bemused, into the confused and frightened eyes of no less than four Woad warriors, males all, and all trussed hand and foot on the ground. “Optio? You’d better see this,” Tristan called out in a deceptively mild voice, glancing behind him for the merest half-second to catch the Optio’s attention, and then returning his gaze to the four Woads. Who in the world had tied them up so? And perhaps more importantly, how much did Neeria know about all this? Linnesse and Linnette
“Hmm.” Linnesse had no way to answer that. Her statement had meant to be a conversational opener, but Drake gave her no opening- just an agreement and then silence, like a rock. Not exactly very friendly, in her opinion. She raised her eyebrows thoughtfully, debating whether to make another stab at it- she was still terribly curious about his continued presence, truthfully, but just then, Linnette returned from the kitchen, bearing a bowl of stew and some bread. Actually, Linnesse, who had been facing Drake, noticed the change in Drake’s expression first- a shift of posture, an increase in alertness- and then as Linnette set bowl and plate and spoon down, he slid off his stool and moved his own bowl over, gesturing for Linnette to sit. And Linnette reacted with no surprise at all, but with an easy and familiar, albeit small, smile of thanks, as she moved into the place Drake had vacated as if it were the most natural thing in the world. All right…clearly he wasn’t just here by coincidence, then. But why was he still here?
Focused on puzzling out the situation with Linnette and Drake as she had been, Linnesse was surprised enough to jump as Derfel’s voice suddenly sounded close behind her- but she knew it was him at once, of course, and turned on her stool to give him a warm, welcoming smile and a quick kiss on the lips. He looked so worried- he hadn’t looked anything but worried since he had come home. Understandably. “Linnette has- she’s just gotten me some food. I had a good nap,” she assured him, picking up the spoon in one hand but not taking a bite yet. Her gaze shifted over with Linnette, who was perched on her stool- formerly Drake’s stool- with her elbow propped on the bar and her head propped on her hand. Drake, behind her, had turned half away from the rest of the group, leaning on the bar with both arms and looking straight forward- making no move to either join the conversation or to leave. Linnesse found it still puzzling and even a bit disconcerting- but Linnette appeared not to notice him at all. “We might have a problem, though,” Linnesse went on, her forehead knitting into a slight frown as she began to explain to Derfel the situation with Linnette’s room. “Linnette’s been told she can’t stay in her room anymore- but she can have a two-room apartment if she can find someone to share it with. It doesn’t make any sense at all.” Linnesse shrugged exasperatedly, and turned to scoop up a bite of stew, unable to resist it any longer, while from her stool Linnette nodded in frustrated agreement. “Apparently soldiers need my room…why these soldiers can’t take the two-room is beyond me.” Linnette rolled her eyes dramatically, her urge to vent about the room situation momentarily overcoming her usual irritation with Derfel. |
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