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| June 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 23 2010, 07:18 PM (3,706 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Mar 26 2010, 10:08 PM Post #61 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Fri Jun 06, 2008 9:59 am Lancelot The Sarmatian wasn't sure if Arthur was awake or asleep, but the other man opened his eyes and placed a hand over Lancelot's sodden jacket sleeve.
Lancelot's gaze followed as Arthur removed his hand. He sighed and shoved fingers through his hair again, his forehead comically white compared to the rest of his dirty face. "I haven't been gone long enough to check yet, Arthur. I made it to the stores," he nodded at the leathers he'd thrown over a chair, "but halfway to the valetudinarium I realized I'd ... left something here." Only my fucking livelihood. And apparently my brain as well. He moved off the edge of the bed, and placed his wet butt carefully on the stool that was next to Arthur's bed. "Did you speak with the bas- with the Optio? I didn't see him in the courtyard with the others yet." He fidgeted briefly, his breath coming tightly - his chest felt constricted for some reason. Perhaps just exhaustion. "Do you want for anything?" Lancelot's mood and the feeling in the room was rapidly becoming strange. He found he was willing to look at anything but the Roman for some reason, and stared into the brazier that was glowing orange and red and managed to keep Arthur's large room warm, despite the horrid, nasty rain and the chill outside. His eyes flickered to where his blades were, leant nicely against Excalibur. They shone together, both sets of weapons lying quietly in their respective sheaths. Unlike their owners. "And what do you mean, what shall you do with me? I'm to go see Dags, and then to 'rest,' as you ordered. I forgot my damn swords, Arthur, otherwise I would be doing just that. Forgive my stupidity." Forgive my stupidity, and my recklessness, and my not being there when I should have. Forgive my attitude, and my heart, and my idiotic tongue that flaps when it should be silent. Forgive my boundaries and my own walls and my tendencies to cover my pain with words. Forgive me, please. Lancelot cleared his throat. He did not like second guessing himself, or his feelings, or thinking he'd done something wrong when Arthur had clearly been the one to throw him out of the room that night - The odd and annoying anger he'd been feeling came and went, swirling about his mind like bees in a hive that had been stirred by rocks. He finally met Arthur's eyes, and pursed his lips. "What am I to do with you?" His tone was gentle, and belied the emotions that fluttered in his body and head. He could deal with himself; but if he felt Arthur was doing something not in the Roman's best interest, he'd be damn sure to say something to him. Forgot my fucking swords here because I was too distracted. That is most definitely your fault, Arthur. This will end, here, one way or another. I cannot live with warring in my heart - and if that means we cannot be friends, or the way we were...ah, fuck. Deep in his secret place, where Lancelot hid most of the things that were important to him - and important for them to not be discovered - he found the idea of not being at least friends with Arthur to be - he shook his head, and squeezed at his dripping curls again. "What am I to do with me?" His words were soft and almost unintelligible, and his dark eyes picked up the hazy light in the room, making them seem unfocused and a riot of colors that hid his confusion. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 26 2010, 10:09 PM Post #62 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Fri Jun 06, 2008 1:09 pm Tatiana
"Friends are a very good thing to have. As one can't have too many friends, you know." Tatiana replied while gently smiling at him since she'd seen the sad, but charming smile appear on the carpenter's face and her heart went out to him in sympathy. She wanted to hug him and let him know that his Thorn was still with him and always would be, but felt that now just wasn't the right time to do that, so she kept that thought to herself for the time being.
"Wow! That's very intreguing, Adian. I didn't know that you did that type of work, it definetly sounds interesting. How long have you been a carpenter?" She asked curiously, glancing over at him a fascinated look on her face as he told her what his specialty of work was. "What type of breed is Wogan? I've never heard of a horse liking ale before, he must be very unique, then." She said tilting her head sideways as she mentally digested the information that he told her about himself. Adian is a very interesting gent from what he's told me about himself so far. Wogan and Adian sound like a unique pair. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 26 2010, 10:11 PM Post #63 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Fri Jun 06, 2008 7:39 pm Neeria
If her look could have killed him, Tristan would be dead. What did the scout mean ‘you don’t’? Surely you must have to do something make the horse move, Neeria thought, or how else would the dumb beast know to go forward? Tristan reached up and tried to take the reins from Neeria’s clutched fists. Now it was Neeria who no longer trusted the scout. Was he going to strangle her with the straps? The woad resisted at first but then reluctantly, she narrowed her eyes and released the thin leather straps. Neeria watched as Tristan made a noise with his mouth and his horse walked right up to him. The woman pushed her lips forward and lifted her tongue, trying to mock the sound. With her head tilted to the side, Neeria watched Tristan tie her horse’s reins to his own beast. She started to protest but thought better of it. Neeria shifted her weight and wobbled in the saddle. The woman grabbed a handful of the horse’s thick mane again as tightly as she could, eyes wide with fear once more. Tristan looked up at her, shaking his head, and slapped the saddle’s pommel.
“Not the main what, scout?” Neeria said, not understanding what he was referring to. She looked at the back of the horse’s head, where Tristan was looking, and asked again, “the main what?” Tristan had told her to grip with her knees which of course was impossible. The woman’s short legs were spread so far apart over the width of the big mare that there was no way she could grip with her knees, the horse was just too wide. Tristan had told her to sit up straight but she was sitting as straight as she could, considering the still painful wound in her side. But not wanting to appear weak, Neeria sucked in a deep breath and pushed her chest forward, raising her abdomen and straightening her back. It hurt like the hells of the underworld, but she refused to give Tristan the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort. Neeria watched as Tristan walked around his horse and almost like flying, lifted his thin, muscular body into the saddle with hardly an effort. He made that noise with his mouth again and as his horse moved, so did the one carrying Neeria. The movement startled the woman so badly that she lunged forward and grabbed the leather knob protruding from the front of the saddle just like Tristan had told her to do. However the saddle swayed, which frightened Neeria even more, so the terrified woman flailed her legs in fear, to steady herself. Taking the action as a sure signal that it was time to go, the gray mare raised her head and started to trot for the barn door. Neeria looked at Tristan with panic in her eyes just as she began to scream. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 26 2010, 10:12 PM Post #64 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Sat Jun 07, 2008 12:41 am Nadeem Nadeem lifted his empty flask to the sky, allowing it to fill with fresh rainwater. He took a swig before slinging it back into a loop on his saddle. He plucked at the excess black cloth round his neck and adjusted it over the lower half of his face again, the material acting as a make-shift guard against the cruel whip of the wind. His shrewd dark eyes slid a glance back at his convoy, the caravan bumming along over uneven ground at an excruciatingly meager pace. It was on its last legs, so to speak, practically being forcibly toted along by the exhausted horses. The beetle had been a sign of danger, but Nadeem had misinterpreted its warning. It had not been death approaching - this time. They had salvaged what they could from the spill. Thankfully most of the food had been spared, as well as the medical supplies. A small delay, nothing more. Allah had smiled upon them throughout such a potentially treacherous journey. The fort was just up ahead now. Their success was nearly tangible. His men were tired, anxious, frustrated, but he was completely complacent. Horus - Nadeem's gray and white hawk - swooped over the wall and circled widely. It gave an exclaiming screech overhead, seemingly announcing the long preceded arrival of his master. Nadeem looked to his left and nodded toward Abaas. The man returned the gesture, effortlessly dismounted, and promptly marched up to the gate when the peep-hole slid open and a soldier called out to them to state their business. Abaas stuffed a cylinder-folded piece of parchment through the opening in the gate. The soldier warily eyed the masked messenger, took the paper, and slammed the peep-hole shut again. A short time later, the gate gave a protesting groan and slowly swung open. Nadeem gave the non-verbal command with a jut of two fingers for his men to move. "Stand by for inspection," the soldier told Nadeem as his group passed, and then muttered something unintelligibly under his breath - something about 'can never be too careful these days.' |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 26 2010, 10:14 PM Post #65 |
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Author: Darya Date: Sat Jun 07, 2008 8:12 am Darya
Darya watched Gabriel closely as he replied to her questions…and reacted to her other comments. He appeared to be a pleasant fellow…yet he was still a stranger…and of course there could always be a great difference between what someone was saying and what that person was thinking. Experience had taught her that…and of course, she was no different. Thus the Sarmatian just took in the information Gabriel was giving her. “Jewelry…”, the dark-haired mused and her eyes sparkled slightly for a moment. Every woman had a liking for jewelry…so had Darya. It was not that important to her…but still… At the mention of the family’s importance in one’s life, the woman gave the man opposite her a rather sad smile. The Gods knew just how much she missed her family…and how much the ignorance about their destinies was nagging on her. Not just of her direct family…but of her whole tribe. Did it still exist? Gods, she did not even know if her home country still existed. With a sigh, she leaned a bit forward and pursed her lips slightly. “You are right…I do agree…”, Darya replied quietly and a corner of her mouth twitched briefly, “…yet it seems that money and family are intrinsically tied to each other…for these days it is money that can help you to get information about your family when you are separated from them. Or worse…depending on where you are, money might even free your family from…slavery…” The dark Sarmatian stiffly licked her lips and lowered her gaze for a moment, once more pushing her dark thoughts aside. Only when Gabriel/Cáel spoke again, her dark eyes lingered on him again…
“Maybe that was because you don’t have blue paint on you…”, Darya commented and gave him another wry smile while nodding slightly at Gabriel’s words about his family most likely being well. And suddenly Arthur’s emerald gaze appeared before her mind’s eye. Was he still well? Or had the who-knew-how-long discussion with the Optio and Lancelot been too much for him in his weakened state? Darya frowned slightly and made a mental note to check on her lover soon…
The woman’s eyebrows shot up at this reply and she shook her head slightly before finally emptying the mug completely while watching Gabriel move and apparently getting ready to leave the tavern. And then he asked her to walk with him. An unexpected question for sure… “I’ve gotten used to all the rain on this island…”, the Sarmatian said and snorted slightly, “…I still don’t like it…but oh well…” Then she put the mug down and stood from her chair, adjusting the long wide cloak about her slender form as she did so. “Ghastly, eh? I’d rather say different than ghastly…”, the dark-haired added and tilted her head again, “…yet are you sure you want company…for I assume you want to search for your family?” |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 26 2010, 10:15 PM Post #66 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Sat Jun 07, 2008 8:23 am Tristan
"Mane. Hair!" Boiling over with exasperation, Tristan gestured violently at his own hair, then at Sitra's mane. praying that this bloody idiot woman would make the connection. It was perhaps a badly chosen action, though, because that, combined with the horses starting to move forward, sent the Woad into a complete panic. She rocked violently in the saddle, then flailed her legs out uselessly in fear, startling the mare into a faster trot that brought her up alongside Tirgatao and even a little ahead of him. Tristan leaned sideways in the saddle and grabbed hastily at the mare's rein, swearing viciously under his breath. "Fucking son of a whore...Captain!" The scout straightened up and called distractedly back to Barbattus. "This'll-" he broke off to practically shove Neeria back into place on the saddle- she had very nearly fallen off as Sitra edged sideways, closer to Tirgatao- "- never work." He clamped his hand down harder on Neeria's shoulder, the muscles in his arms tensed to iron to keep her balanced at arm's length while she flailed around. "I think she should double with someone." Which probably means fucking me, the scout thought savagely, but it looked like there was nothing for it. They didn't have time to teach the damn prisoner to ride, and as it was, they would never make it out of the gate without her falling and cracking her head open on the stones. Which might be good riddance, but was no doubt not what the Commander or anyone else intended. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 26 2010, 10:18 PM Post #67 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Sat Jun 07, 2008 9:14 am Arthur Arthur attempted to read Lancelot which should be easier with the other man’s dark curls shoved back out of his angular face….but the Roman was finding it difficult as Lancelot seemed to avoid Arthur’s assessing gaze. The already well pronounced lines across Arthur’s brow deepened in concern at not finding what he sought…. Something troubles him to avoid my eyes as he does.
The Commander’s gaze briefly ticked to where Lancelot gestured. But Arthur still hadn’t realized his lieutenant’s prized twin blades still rested comfortably with Excalibur instead of strapped to Lancelot’s back. Arthur inwardly sighed the moment Lancelot moved from the bed as if he needed space between them. Surely they were both beyond any emotions of discomfort with each other’s company. The Roman had thought he’d simplified their relationship – friendship – when he had ended their physical involvement. He had hoped to put an end to the guilt he continually felt when with Darya and Lancelot was now free to whore with whomever he chose. Yet, there was something in those dark eyes that seemed to contradict what little Lancelot had spoken on the matter. An ache in Arthur’s side successfully distracted him and he moved a hand to once again press over the small line of stitches beneath his tunic. He bent his left leg and attempted to find a more comfortable position on the bed as Lancelot spoke again.
Arthur waved off Lancelot’s inquiry as the only immediate need the Roman had was for rest….and to discover what troubled his best friend. He then unconsciously bit at his dry bottom lip while thinking on the discussion he’d had with the Optio in regards to Lancelot. Arthur had no intention of satisfying Scipio’s request for ‘proper’ retribution for actions the Commander felt were understandable considering the situation. But Arthur would certainly........distracted again his gaze fell to Lancelot’s hands as the Sarmatian appeared to uncharacteristically fidget.
“There is nothing to forgive, Lancelot. You, my friend, are exhausted and not yourself,” Arthur answered with kindness and glanced over to at last see Lancelot’s blades resting with his own weapon. His sword calloused hand formed a fist as if longing to grip at the hilt of Excalibur and draw upon her power. Arthur perhaps now understood Lancelot’s restlessness….those twin blades were as much apart of the Sarmatian as Arthur’s sword was a living breathing part of his own life force.
The gentle tone in Lancelot’s voice immediately drew Arthur’s attention. He stiffly pushed himself into a sitting position on the bed; not bothering to hide his discomfort but not wanting for anything from Lancelot either. The Sarmatian’s presence was comfort enough. “I am fine,” Arthur answered quietly and he hoped reassuringly enough while turning his attention to the orange and yellow flickering of the flames in the hearth. He pursed his lips and thought to fill Lancelot in on his discussion with Scipio. But tiny words from Lancelot changed Arthur’s focus again.
The words were spoken so softly that Arthur had nearly missed them. But he had heard them and turned to once again carefully regard Lancelot’s dark features. What has him so distressed? “Talk to me, Lancelot,” Arthur urged his friend and reached for the other man; lightly pressing his fingertips upon Lancelot’s knee cap. “Unless you would prefer that I read to you from one of my favorite scrolls,” Arthur added with a touch of dry humor. “I would hear what is troubling you,” He continued to urge Lancelot to voice what so obviously occupied his thoughts. Had the Sarmatian discovered something further about Scipio? Or had some other troublesome matter made itself known in the brief time Lancelot had been away from Arthur’s quarters? Emerald eyes searched the depths of Lancelot’s expression and an index finger prodded at the other man’s leather clad bony knee pressing the point. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 26 2010, 10:23 PM Post #68 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Sat Jun 07, 2008 1:24 pm Drake God...! Drake thought abruptly, his teeth gritting together audibly when Linnette placed her hand over his to halt his departure. She, of course, would have no idea that even those little touches were becoming more and more like an agony for him because of the fact that this is all they would ever have. It was just as he cast a wary look back over his shoulder at Linnette Drake realised he had not compared her touch, her attitude, smile nor composure to anything like Cecile in a long time. His original 'excuse' to observe Linnette had fallen by the wayside at some point...
Her condition was ... amusing? Well, no not amusing. But it did bring about a wry smile from Drake. He glanced towards the saddlebags and gave a harumph of consent, shaking his head in mild amusement as he walked towards them. He bent down, scooped them up in one large hand and slung them over his back. At least she had not tried to stop him from helping - Drake wasn't sure he could do that... Or more precisely, he wasn't sure he cuold trust someone else to do what he was doing. The Spaniard was thumping towards the exit but looked over his shoulder once to make sure Linnette was eating. Seeing her tuck into the second bowl of stew gave Drake a feeling of comfort. So far so good. As he ducked his head, neglecting to pull up his hood, Drake hurried through the rain, feeling the cool water rush down the back of his neck and along his spine. Whilst dodging puddles and people, the Spaniard found himself wondering if Linnette would still have been sitting sobbing on the battlements if he had not come upon her earlier on... ? Amadeus Amadeus glanced at the window. It was nearing time to be gone. He felt confident, cocky even, about this whole thing. He had never treated with woads before but they were beasts, mere sub-humans with no social structure, no sense of humanity, none of the little things that made a civilisation... civil. They were forest dwellers and nothing more. What chance did they have against the Might of Rome? The Roman jutted his chin forward and turned, walking out of the Rome in all his glory. He was wearing his Roman armour, it's polished surface gleaming obnoxiously. At his hip there was a sword that looked impressive - it had to do so beause Amadeus was not exactly skilled in wielding a sword for anything other than appearances. Oh he knew how to - he just wasn't much good at it. The red cloak swirled behind him as he turned out into the rain. From behind, his dark hair, noble shoulders pulled back, the air of authority oozing from every pore - one might have thought they looked at Arthur Castus. Such a comparison would not have pleased the Optio however. Walking into arena of the stables, Amadeus glanced up at Tristan and Barbattus sitting ready. He gave the men a nod and then cast an empty look to Neeria. She, to him, was nothing. She, to him, was dead meat. He lifted his hand, clicked his fingers and did not even look to the stable boy as he ordered his horse brought out. It did not suit Amadeus to ride too often - the wound on teh back of his thigh causing him quite a deal of pain if in the saddle too long, however, there was little in the way of choice. The Optio swung himself into the saddle of his impressive grey stallion, arranging himself calmly before addressing the men. "There was another woad, where is she?" he asked, glancing at Barbattus, not making any attempt to make a move yet, quite happy to wait for Mordred's appearance and knowing no one would move without his order. Control... Catherine
Although Catherine had heard the line a hundred times or more, she still managed an angelic smile, a beautiful little blush and a shy laugh at his compliment. Her eyelashes batted perfectly and when she looked up at him it was from within the frame of those dark lashes, looking young, impressionable and willing all at the same time. It was strange how she didn't get tired of hearing compliments like that. She never fished for compliments, she didn't think too much on them at all, but when they came she appreciated them for what they were worth.
Biddable - Catherine was extraordinarily biddable. When 'working' Catherine was hardly Catherine at all. She rose when bidded to do so, smiled when she knew the time was right, and walked around to take Titrus' elbow as he offered it. It was only when the wench spoke that Catherine woke up, as such. Her hazy green eyes swivelled to look at the wench and she couldn't help but give the woman a smirk, delibrately swaying her hips closer to Titrus as he led her towards teh door. Try as she might, Catherine could not help but cast the most cursory of looks towards Gawain, just to see if he was still there. When her eyes alighted on the back of his head she found herself... content, just to know that he was there. A little part of her brain mocked that lie because it knew that Catherine was, in fact, relieved that he had not seen her leave with another man. Why that would matter to a whore was irrelevant really. It was still raining. The blonde hated the thoughts of getting wet and then having to seduce this man beside her. She would feel dirty, unclean before she ever undressed. It quite surprised her when her lithe body was pulled in against Titrus' and his arm sheltered her. The blonde gave a small laugh, feeling quite juvenile with him, for some reason, nestled in under his arm.
She put a sultry pout to her lips as she glanced up at him, nodding her head to let him know she knew where they could go. Inside she was squirming - hating this talk of money, hating the knowledge that that is what all of this was for - money. It was so fake! Didn't that bother men?! Catherine was greatful for the soldier's warmth as they arrived at the fortress entrance. She hated using this place for these encounters because it upset Arland, but he would rather her do it there than to bring men back to her home and let them know where she lived. "This way - " Catherine purred, sliding out from under his arm but reaching in to grasp his hand, leading him along the corridor towards the room that Arland was allotted. It was a tiny room - but it had a bed and a pitcher of water which is all that was needed really. As she walked ahead, Catherine cast a glance over her shoulder at Titrus, a wicked smile upon her lips. "Just here..." They turned a corner and she twisted her hand in his, smiling as she turned around to stand in front of him, her chin lowered a little but her eyes lifted to his face. There was a playfulness in her expression, a gentle innocence. "How come you have never taken me before, Titrus?" Catherine asked quite suddenly, smiling and leaning her body in closer to his, almost pinning him to the wall. The door that she was looking for was right behind him at this stage, the corridor empty, her breathing was quiet but deep as her fingers twisted around his in an oddly childish fashion. Her other hand lifted to push a strand of hair back from her pretty face before reaching up to his chest, laying her fingers, cold and a little damp from the rain, against the skin visible at his collarbones. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 26 2010, 10:25 PM Post #69 |
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Author: SarmatianKnight Date: Sat Jun 07, 2008 1:27 pm Lucius Lucius could feel her curious look, it was burning on his own body but he ignored it. He bent his head and ignored it very well, making sure that some strands of hair did not allow a proper view to his expression.
Obviously she believed his story and he was more than relieved that she did so. He dared an open smile and nodded. "Always. It is my duty." Then he waited for her answer and the brief moment of hesitation made him suspicious about whatever she would tell him. It was the kind of hesitation he was used to because he had acted the same way for a long time. Patiently he waited for an answer to come, never breaking their eye contact.
There it was: the expected lie. He knew that she lied and she knew that he knew. And they both did not say it. He just nodded. Who was he to tell her bluntly that she was a liar and critizise her when he did exactly the same? So he kept his mouth shut and wondered why she saw not a bad man in him. Because he accepted her lie? Probably. It was nit important really. The additional words for a Roman made him laugh a little. He could have explained that Romans were no bad people at all. He could have pointed out that he had seen Romans doing good things very often already. But he did not because he felt her tiny hand on his body while she peekd out into the infirmary. She was strong and she would make it. Lucius knew it the moment Saoirse straightened her back and left the small room. He followed her with a smile - duty fulfilled - and almost bumped into her when she stopped and turned back to him suddenly and very unexpected. He reached out to help her keeping her balance immediatly. He did it automatically and without thinking.
She did. And he would know. Lucius was certain of that - unless the man was a fool and unable to count to three. "You look gorgeous" he reassured her with a smile. Lies seemed to be the basis of their conversations. And with this he led her back to the others, waiting politely a few steps away from the group. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 26 2010, 10:27 PM Post #70 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Sat Jun 07, 2008 4:13 pm Linnette Good. He did take the saddlebags with him, agreeing to her little “condition” with no protests, and she fully expected not to see him carrying them around when he came back. They had looked heavy! Shaking her head tolerantly at the foolishness of him not just taking the bags with him to his room the first time he had been there, to clean and bandage her hand, Which was very kind of him, her mind reiterated to itself. Linnette picked up her spoon once again and scooped up a bite, a soft smile of reminiscence touching her face. Gedeon could eat and eat and eat…he would have put away six bowls of this stew if he could have, when she herself would be very full after these two. The amount he could eat had been almost funny to Linnette- she would have sat there bemused and quietly stunned, watching him and shaking her head and smiling, while he scooped and swallowed with single-minded intensity- then grinned at her and said “What, Lin? Never seen a man eat?” and tugged playfully at her braid when he realized she was staring. Yes…it would have happened like that, maybe. Linnette’s mind spun a little fantasy of that as she ate her stew. All other activity in the tavern was normal- Vanora was down at the other end of the counter pouring someone an ale, the other girls- except of course Thorn- were going about their chores; Gawain and Galahad were chatting at one table, familiarly like they old friends they were; the whore named Catherine was walking out the door with her latest soldier customer, off to ply her trade. All as usual. Feeling obscurely comforted by that, Linnette spun in her mind the most detailed picture she possibly could of her husband, and placed him sitting on the bar stool next to hers. He would be wearing the dark blue tunic, the one she liked so much on him, and his hair would be damp from the rain and a little messy. He would be eating stew in prodigious quantity, of course, and there would be a little mud on his pants and boots from outside. She would tell him he needed to take a bath. He would joke that she ought to join him, then scoop up some more stew. She would laugh and indignantly refuse, and he would cock his eyebrow at her and ask why not, then take another bite of stew. They would chat about the happenings of their respective mornings. Maybe they would fall into a companionable silence after a while. But he would be there. Linnette took another bite of her own- real, and delicious- stew, and sighed, her gaze on the empty stool and the vision in her mind. Her eyes had become misty from her thoughts, but the vision was not painful- wistful and longing, but not painful. She wanted it there, wanted Gedeon occupying her mind if he was not to be there in reality. So she held the picture there, kept Gedeon there beside her as she slowly worked her way through her second bowl of stew- ate lunch with her invisible husband, while the rest of the buzz of the tavern swirled around her. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 26 2010, 10:28 PM Post #71 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Sat Jun 07, 2008 7:20 pm Lancelot Lancelot was thinking as he stared at his blades; what fool leaves behind his means of life and then has the balls to admit to it? What fool allows his friend to speak to him kindly and tell him 'it's not your fault, you're exhausted.'? What kind of idiot can't control his own brain? Arthur's touch on his knee made Lancelot look up, his eyes large in his angular face, the hair shoved off his forehead making him look all of twelve years old, instead of the twenty five that he was. He met Arthur's gaze fearlessly, but had to swallow hard as the other man voiced his concerns.
It spoke to the first knight's mood that Arthur's 'funny' only caused a passing smile to crinkle Lancelot's face briefly. It came and went like the lights being doused in the halls in the mornings - leaving behind only smoke and the idea that they had even been lit a few seconds previous - dark and silent now for the rest of the day. "I would hear what the Optio and you discussed," he danced around Arthur's statement. What good would it do to speak to Arthur of his thoughts - his brain wasn't in the best state and he himself wasn't sure of what he needed to decide in the first place. Oh, well, Arthur, see, I'm not sure if I still love you, and I really do need to think on what being away from you does to me. And by the way, I didn't mean for you to think I thought you a whore. Can we be friends? Lancelot clenched his jaw until the bones cracked; his head began to pound and he ran suddenly weirdly shaking fingers through his wet hair. He rubbed at his bare forehead and angrily tried to force the pounding in his skull to subside. That only made it worse. He looked at Arthur again - did the man truly have the strength or the desire to listen - and should Lancelot even say a damn word? "I...great gods teeth," he sighed, leaning forward a bit on his stool. He was chilled, and for some reason being closer to the furs on Arthur's bed seemed to help. Yes, that was it. "For some reason I cannot begin to fathom, my mind is awhirl. Normally I'm quite ready to pick up the regular stuff after a battle - you know, eating, training, fucking," he smirked quickly. "But...ah, it's not important, Arthur. What is important is seeing to the others, and making sure your wound is healed - and soon." He rose and stood next to where Arthur sat on the bed; his arms crossed, his wound pinching from the action. He licked at his lips and tried to remain ambiguous. "I do offer apologies for being too - hasty with my anger at the Optio, earlier...although I will not apologize for the thought behind it.... has anyone checked your sutures?" Anything. Anything to not tell him the truth. Not yet. Not until I've had a chance to think...and who knows if he's willing to really listen - he did throw me out. Threw me away from him, away from that part of us, and I don't know, for fuck's sake, what I even want any more. The face of Isolde flashed into Lancelot's mind, her horror at what he had tried to do - his own surprise - his night alone after he'd shoved her out of his quarters. The tears he'd sworn to never cry again. Looking into the Roman's tired but kind green eyes, Lancelot's chest ached suddenly in a fierce knot of loss - he swallowed again, and his eyes burned. He had chosen to live in this life - to not be consciously killed by Woads or butchered by Romans. Those that had touched him before - they were no more trouble - and they weren't Arthur. Lancelot blinked heavily, his eyes red and his vision not so clear. He leaned over Arthur a bit, as if to straighten the coverings on the bed, and he wavered again, almost tripping over some random piece of clothing that had fallen under the edge of the bed. He laughed - too loudly. "I need wine. And plenty of it." |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 26 2010, 10:29 PM Post #72 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Sat Jun 07, 2008 8:11 pm Brendyn Despite the gagging smells and odd assortment that came to use the facitities, Brendyn still tried not to complain. Sure, he could handle the work okay, and he felt humbled at the thought that he was a warrior for Rome who sometimes left his temper and his mouth get in the way of his learning....and there was still much for him to learn. So, far, from what he judged of Antonius's training....all he was taught to do was hate the enemy so that it was easier to kill them, but he had also learned skills that made him a good fighter. He slightly laughed to himself upon thinking of what Arthur would think of his new transfer from Aesica. No doubt, he'd not be impressed.... Brendyn moved to get fresh water for the buckets, all the while berating himself. Antonius had always told him that he was one of the best....somehow perhaps Antonius was mistaken greatly, for if he was the best, he'd not be here cleaning the latrines. In that time also, he thought of Titrus and Malcus. They had placed their confidence in him, and he had blown it. Brendyn at least hoped that he'd get to retrain in some areas and better his skills...One of his favorite areas at Aesica had been the training area as there had been a target he could practice throwing his lance, but also trying out the whip and his sword... Perhaps when this "tour of duty" was done, he could find time to train and hone his skills...but also get some sleep. Brendyn was hungry, but after cleaning the latrines, he just did not care to eat. He and the other servant continued their jobs, though niether really could begin to guess even what time it was... |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 26 2010, 10:30 PM Post #73 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Sat Jun 07, 2008 11:00 pm Mordred Mordred gave a non-committal nod at Amadeus' instructions, turning back to his task. He scooped up a gauntlet and caught a glimmer of reflection off its flared cuff. His lips formed a tight line as he gazed into the distorted image of himself - only it wasn't his eyes looking back at him - the eyes were emerald. Arthur's eyes. Uther's eyes. Staring. The knight slammed the piece against the tabletop, his palm mashed atop of it, crushing it. Every tendon in his arm strained against his skin; his jaw squared and his teeth audibly ground together. His dark eyes were fiery with rage. Distant. A few moments passed and Mordred snorted derisively, donning the last piece of armor and his cloak before turning on his heel to exit his room. He made haste down the corridor and through the rain, his strides long and purposeful. Once the stables were in sight, his pace slowed. He squared off his shoulders and raised an arrogant chin as he entered. Amadeus was saddled and waiting. He side-glanced Tristan and Malcus but initially ignored the Woad. "Gentlemen," Mordred acknowledged pleasantly, his smile crooked. He waited patiently, positively glowing with elation. A stable boy brought him Lucifer, and the knight expertly mounted the midnight-colored steed, settling in the saddle with a kind of noble arch to his back. He cast a glance toward Amadeus when he inquired to the other two men about the other Woad, and Mordred had to keep himself from barking a laugh. Such a leading question... He had left the little bitch man-handled and damaged in the dungeons which seemed proper, but who knew where she was now... If Malcus had been involved then no doubt his compassionate tart of a lap-dog Titrus had been, too - he probably had scooped up the little brat and brought her home to coddle. Mordred's dark gaze swiveled from the Optio to Tristan and Malcus, his features apathetic as he waited. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 27 2010, 06:07 PM Post #74 |
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Author: Kay Date: Sun Jun 08, 2008 3:38 am Guinevere Guinevere crouched down with Mona in a shadowy archway opposite the stables.
Mona offered her water flask to Guinevere who shook her head in irritation. She didn't wish to be distracted by anything; she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the stables. "We have to be quiet" she said, softly, urging Mona to speak in whispers. It would be hard to explain what they were doing should they be discovered. Guinevere strained to listen; she could hear raised voices coming from the stables but could not make out what was being said. Suddenly, the Woad princess stood up in alarm, her hand reaching for her sword. A scream had come from the stables. "That was Neeria" she said. "What are they doing to her?" To rush the building now would be suicide for the two woman. There was little choice but to wait here until the soldiers emerged from the building. Guinevere's hands dropped to her side and she clutched at the fabric of her cloak in frustration. She turned to Mona and sighed "We can't do anything for her at the moment. We just have to wait" |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 27 2010, 06:09 PM Post #75 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Sun Jun 08, 2008 9:20 am Arthur Lancelot met Arthur’s assessing gaze head on, yet his nearly black eyes gave away nothing as to what might be troubling the knight. But there had been a small smile, genuine while fleeting…..yet still no reassurance that what troubled Lancelot was to be dismissed. Arthur retreated from where he’d touched Lancelot’s knee as the other man answered; his hand coming to rest on top of the furs still within reach if need be.
Arthur frowned. And he remained silent while carefully regarding Lancelot’s fidgeting seeking the true source of what the Sarmatian was struggling to conceal. Arthur knew Lancelot had no real cares about the Optio and certainly cared even less for the politics of making treaty with Merlin; for the Commander that had been the focus of his brief meeting with Scipio earlier. But Arthur knew he should to speak with Lancelot about some sort of punishment, or at the very least something would need to be arranged so that the Optio upon his return might be made to feel vindicated. It was not in Arthur’s nature to deceive a fellow Roman officer….but in this instance; he would do it to protect Lancelot…or any other of his knights when he felt it necessary. Scipio was a newly assigned officer and would learn in time the value and loyalty of the Sarmatian knights.
’Fucking’…yes, something you do quite well, my friend. Arthur thought darkly and not to the Sarmatian’s skills as a lover. But he quickly shoved the thought aside as that part of their distinctive bond was broken…pushed away into the darkness of the past. And although Arthur’s fingers flexed over his line of stitches, he consciously ignored Lancelot’s question in regards to them. He was far too focused on Lancelot’s body language sensing something dark and even painful in the other man’s movements. Had Lancelot’s wound re-opened causing the knight pain? Lancelot appeared to falter as he leaned over the bed. And that was proof enough for Arthur that his lieutenant and closest friend required rest….now… and not further discussions on anything and everything besides what seemed to plague Lancelot’s thoughts. He reached up to steady Lancelot, grasping at the loose fitting leathers around the other man’s hip in time with Lancelot’s next words.
“You need rest,” Arthur sternly voiced his concern and tightened his single handed grip on Lancelot’s waist. Rest, not drink or any other of your chosen vices. “I want you to swear to me….” Arthur attempted to lean closer as he spoke, but grimaced as his stitches pulled in the movement. His grip tightened on Lancelot in reflex and perhaps to steady himself as much as the Sarmatian. Arthur exhaled and willed the twinge of pain to pass…at least long enough to say what he must to Lancelot. Arthur had half a mind to order his lieutenant to lay down beside him before he fell down, but quickly thought better of that notion. Better they spend no more time laying together even in rest. “….swear that you will go to your bed now and rest. I want your word that you will not do anything foolish. I need you here, Lancelot, and I need you recovered. We will discuss the Optio and his requests regarding you later tonight,” Arthur said voice thick with concern and genuine care. Lancelot’s close proximity seemed to weaken Arthur’s resolve and the fact that his former lover was soaking wet, obviously cold, exhausted and in some sort of pain only tugged at Arthur’s heart that much harder. He did still love Lancelot after all. But that love must no longer be anything beyond brotherhood. Or so Arthur worked hard to convince himself….quite difficult at the moment. Green eyes searched for some glimmer of ‘something’ in Lancelot’s dark eyes. Purgatory. Will I always feel the scorch of his gaze and long for the burning union we once shared? I know what is right and just and what God’s choice would be for me, yet I want…..what I must not take. Not any longer. |
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