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| August 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 12 2010, 09:09 PM (2,827 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:09 PM Post #1 |
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Summary here |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:09 PM Post #2 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Fri Aug 01, 2008 3:03 am Milan Milan didn't expect Mari to understand the darkness in his life. He, himself, found it difficult to fully grasp. It was like a parasite that had long ago latched onto him, and slowly over time it had ebbed away at his life-force, eating him from the inside out. The darkness had always been an inescapable part of his life, and on some morbid level, he had found solace in that constant. Mari had provided him with renewed hope. She was beginning to fill in the hole in his soul with her love and her light. She had become his new constant. To ever lose her would've been mortally devastating for Milan. When she pulled away and sat back on her heels, so did he. He cocked his head to the side inquisitively at the sudden enthusiasm that lit up her pretty face. He wondered what she was thinking.
She was absolutely serious about this, wasn't she? She seemed so certain they could do this, that they could fix up the cottage. Milan, by nature, didn't immediately share her optimism. It wasn't that he thought the endeavor impossible, or that he didn't desire to engage in a project that would not only make Mari happy, but also benefit them both by eventually resulting in a quiet place for them to live together - Milan was just curious as to how such a feat was to be accomplished. The cottage was not even a remnant of a home just now. Would it truly ever be anything more than rubble? He saw the undeniable faith in Mari's eyes and sighed, nodding in agreement. It didn't take as long as he had earlier anticipated to clear a good majority of the debris with Mari's help. Most of the furniture was among the scraps to be thrown out, as it was all damaged or rotted through. The bed would need to be replaced eventually, too, but as long as the piece was holding out decently enough, Milan wasn't going to bother. Once they finished, Milan went to start a fire in the hearth for the two of them. He snatched the coverlet off of the bed and lay it on the floor before the warm blaze for Mari to sit on. He retrieved the other blanket and then went to join her, wrapping the material around them both as he snuggled in close beside her. A stray strand of hair fell against her pale cheek, and instinctively Milan raised a hand to brush it back into place, his finger lightly tracing over the shell of her delicate ear. He looked back at her, a soft half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:10 PM Post #3 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Fri Aug 01, 2008 11:48 am Brendyn He reverently made the sign of the cross, bowed, and then reached for the helmet and spear he had brought with him. Somehow it seemed disrespecful to bring such items into a holy place, but he felt God's blessing should be placed also on the tools of his trade. Looking once more that the crucifix, Brendyn turned and left the chapel. He had not checked on Tyranus since he had arrived and wanted to make sure the coal black steed was taken care of. The day was still gray, and morose looking. It had been a busy day for him, and perhaps it all seemed like one bad dream. Would Titrus be disappointed that he had not finished out his punishment? What would Quintus tell him? That a stinky smelly young soldier had been running about the fort looking of a little impish woad? He could not afford to make many mistakes so he had prayed for wisdom. He made his way to the stables mindful of the position of the sun through the clouds. All he could pray for now was that the wall was quiet and free of incident... |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:13 PM Post #4 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Fri Aug 01, 2008 3:14 pm Galahad Galahad was of the rather noble and ludicrous notion that his wounds were all that bad. He was more wounded inside than out so being here in the infirmary was just a pain in the arse inflicted by his well-meaning brothers in arms. The young knight wanted nothing more than to just curl up away from eyes and away from people wondering, he wanted to forget about Alina and Kolya for a little while. He wanted to pretend that he hadn't just made a total arse of himself too... When Fiona came to stand over him, her soft touches with the cold cloth against his feverish, hard stomach made the knight flinch. He hissed in a breath and glared down at the contact, frowning deeply before banging his head back onto the mattress and staring desolately at the ceiling. The muscles in his abdomen clenched when the woads contact pained him, but he tried not make any more noise.
Wasn't it obvious? Well, to Galahad, no. Having spent the best part of his youth and all of his adulthood in a life of servitude this idea of wanting to help just for the sake of helping was rather obscure to him. When Fiona looked at him he found himself looking straight into her rather rivetting blue eyes. His nose twitched and he sniffed when she looked away, tilting his head back, his adam's apple bobbing against his pale neck. His look of composure was only broken when a swipe of the cloth was felt hotly in the wound on his stomach and Galahad clenched his muscles, his body shifting slightly to one side to move away from the touch but relaxed again shortly after.
Gawain's voice broke through Galahad's momentary spasm of pain and he gave his Sarmatian friend a nod of his head, a miserable nod, before sighing and once more taking up his glare at the ceiling. He really didn't want Gawain hanging around on his behalf. It was bad enough that Galahad had little choice but to sit there and take Lavinia's ministrations, it was entierly different for the other two to remain. Speaking of two... Galahad lifted his head to see where the prick was and saw him talking to a rather delicious looking female. The young Sarmatian wheezed a laugh and flopped his head back onto the bed for a third time, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.
Now it was the little woad's voice that intercepted Galahad's attempt to sink into oblivion. His mirthless laugh choked to an end and he felt the emotion swell viciously in his throat. His eyes were already shut, his head tilted far enough back that Fiona would only see his face scrunch up a little and his chest suddenly stopped it's rhythmic rise and fall as he held his breath. What exactly happened eh? Well, he had been a fool for a start. A fool who was taken for a ride in believing that someone like Alina might love him despite all his faults, and they were many, as Lancelot liked to remind him. He had then been a fool twice over by thinking he could, as Gawain suggested, fight for her. And a fool three times over by actually going ahead and, physically, fighting for her against a man he knew he had no chance. Releasing a pent breath, Galahad's hand lashed downwards without warning, snapping tight about Fiona's wrist as she tended to his wound. He halted her hand and peered down at her with teary, blood-shot eyes, his chin tucked to his shoulder to look at her, hoping that at this angle she might not see the obvious upset in his eyes. His lips parted and a breath caught in his throat. His fingers softened on her wrist and he sniffed, the fight going out of him and his grip slid downwards to her hand. The calloused tips of his fingers traced over the back of Fiona's wet hand and Galahad shook his head, turning his face away from her but leaving his fingers where they were -- "Nothing." he lied poorly. Eala Eala followed the scenario as best she could but soon got lost in all the goings on. She was only sure of one thing -- Ash. He stood behind her with a reassuring hand at the nape of her neck, the warmth of his flesh mingling with her own as she tried to keep up. She was also sure that soon they would go back to Badon and soon, very soon, she would avenge her brother's death. Black eyes darted left to right, watching Merlin with awe and Guinevere with admiration. She couldn't keep up with any speaking because no one was making a point of speaking to her or taking their time to ensure she understood so she just tried to decipher happenings by actions alone, and it was difficult. Mona was acting very strange and Eala cast a curious look to Juna, the healer, to see if she would help her. But just then movement frmo the hut where Merlin was speaking with the Romans drew her eyes and she watched as one stormed out, followed by the one who had put her onto the horse. Pale teeth were bared as the men mounted and Eala glanced back towards Ash as he retreated to a quiet corner. She remained put, watching intently as things swirled around her. Unable to keep up she dipped her head and backed off, watching the Romans warily. She turned and ran into the bushes after Ash, wanting to ask him what was going on, what she had missed. She missed the Romans leaving - stepping around a fallen tree-trunk as she came to hunker down close to Ash. The little blonde draped her arms over her legs, her knees in her armpits, fingers dangling on the ground. Not able to hear had her looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming and when she looked back at Ash she frowned, gesturing to his stmoach with a questionning grunt. Saoirse It was one thing that Saoirse had learned the hard way with fighting and living a man's life... it lead to the inevitability of receiving men's wounds. Her teacher in the art of battle had been ... well, whilst lenient would imply far too much, he certainly had not ever drawn blood if he could have avoided it. So it was only when she started fighting in the real world and not the protected one inside the walls of Leinster's finest castle, did Saoirse truly learn about wounds. And she had learned ... alot. She remained still as the nurse tended to her thigh, looking upwards at Dagonet, her blue eyes roving about his haggard face, wishing she could take away some of his pain, wishing she cuold bring a smile to his face once more. He was a man hurt deeply, hurt deep inside. He had surrendered his soul to pain because it was much too hard to hold onto his soul whilst it suffered. All she could do was hope that darkness would deliver his soul back to him at the end of his grieving. The nurse was finishing her bandaging...
The red head looked down at the off-white bandage about her slender, pale thigh and flexed her knee tenatively. It bent relatively well and only caused a minor ache to the wound, the bandage remaining in place. Sighing, the Irish woman glanced up sheepishly at Dagonet and turned to sit with one knee hitched up onto the bed, her other leg dangling over the side. Her hand reached out to his once more and she nodded her head, looking rebuked and rogueish in rebuke. "Promise." she told him, crawling forward to wrap her arms about his neck and lay her head against his shoulder, brushing her lips just beneath his ear and smoothed a hand up the back of his head against his shorn hair. "I didn' mean t'worry ye." she told him quietly, then withdrew a little, smiling at him though there was no happiness in her smile. "Wha's say I go get wha' we need?" Saoirse asked, seeking solace in industry, looking to keep herself busy to avoid dwelling on morbid matters which were still so close to the surface. And as she spoke she was extricating herself from the Sarmatians arms, careful not to antagonise her recently bandaged leg. Both their clothes were ruined with the blood so she would have to get a change of clothes from their room for them both. Blue eyes narrowed as she looked at Dagonet, her body poised over him in the process of moving away -- "Dagonet... ?" she asked quietly, "Y'll be alrigh' again won't ye?" Saoirse's voice was barely above a whisper and filled with the youthful, sorrowful pain of a woman who has already lost one love too early in life. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:15 PM Post #5 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Fri Aug 01, 2008 6:53 pm Titrus Titrus stood from his place on the bottom step at the base of the ramparts. He shook the dirt from his cloak and ran a weary hand through his thick hair, sighing. What a mess. And all of it while the captain was away on orders. First the woad girl escaped, then the brawl in the tavern and if that weren’t enough, then finding out that the wall had been breached by a broken side gate. Thank God for Quintus. He’d helped Titrus hold things together, along with the help of Brendyn. Titrus would be sure to tell the captain about both of them upon Barbattus’ return. The guards who’d left the cell door open would have to deal with the captain’s punishment when Barbattus returned. Titrus cringed at the thought. The lieutenant gave final orders of the day to the squad commanders, making sure they were aware of the evening’s rosters and all of the duties that were expected of them. Titrus sighed again when he thought of the task, perhaps his last for the day that now lay before him. In the captain’s absence, Titrus would have to relay all the recent events to the Commander Castus, himself. He was not excited about that task at all. Titrus knew Arthur was a fair man, but he dreaded having to be the bearer of such bleak news. Especially since hearing the commander had been badly wounded in the last campaign. Adjusting his cloak tighter around his shoulders against the late-day cold wind, Titrus headed toward the barracks. He kept his head lowered and his shoulders squared while concentrating on the words he would use to tell the commander about the escape. He imagined Arthur would be furious in knowing the compound had been compromised by god-knows-how-many rebels. “Short, precise and to the point,” Titrus said aloud as he quickened his pace through the commons, practicing his presentation. “Facts. That’s all he needs or wants - is facts.” As Titrus walked inside the barracks, he half-saluted at the sentries on duty. Once inside, he brushed off his cloak again and adjusted his armor. He straightened his weapons then ran his large hands through his hair once more. A cold chill ran down his spine which he doubted was caused by the wind outside. The barracks were already dark inside and as Titrus walked past the sconces that held the torches mounted on the stone walls, lighting the way, shadows danced beside him, making the passage eerie and unfriendly. The lieutenant made his way down the long corridor toward Arthur’s quarters. When he got to the commander’s door, he cleared his throat and moved his lips – trying one last time to practice the words he was going to say to Commander Castus. After a few moments, he raised a hand to the massive door and knocked loudly. Then he stepped back and waited until he was acknowledged. Mona Mona felt her grip slip from around the healer’s ankle. The crazed woman gritted her teeth and rolled onto her side again, curling into the fetal position. ‘They’ were all out to get her, she knew it. She would just wait for Merlin to come to her. Merlin would make it right for her. All she had to do was… Mona jumped when looked up as Guinevere slowly approached her. In her mind, Guinevere had the head of an animal and her eyes were glowing. Mona wanted to scream but no sound came out. Her mouth was open but there was no noise. Suddenly, Guinevere was on top of her, forcing some bitter thick liquid down her throat. Mona gasped and gurgled and choked, but she couldn’t stop the substance from sliding slowly down her throat. The injured woman had no fight left in her so she fell limply into Guinevere’s arms and swallowed the substance. Mona lay back down on the ground. She couldn’t hear the voices in the ground any more, they’d gone and left her all alone. Slowly, she began to feel warm all over. Mona stopped shivering as the liquid filled her veins. Her breathing became even and regular. Mona looked at Guinevere again and saw the princess’s real face again for the first time in a long time. The crazed woman smiled at the other woad woman, which quickly faded to a grimace. “Forgive me, my princess,” she whispered and slowly closed her eyes. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:17 PM Post #6 |
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Author: Unicorn Date: Sat Aug 02, 2008 1:43 am Mirtha
He heard her words... and her laugh. It brightened a little his heart and mind. Took him away from the dark thoughts. But only for a moment. He should not come here in the first place. Eventually it would bring her pain, because of his doings. He was sure of it. He could not handle the world, the people... anything while he was drunk, and while he was sober also. He was trying to stop drinking. He was trying to change, but his tries came up empty. He had no motivation to do so. He was alone for so long that he had lost himself, under the mask he wore... The mask of tough man, not easly spoken to. He was hidden so deep behind it that he forgott how to act like himself anymore. But Ione said she wanted to help him. Was this even possible? Could he stop drinking and drop the mask? Probably fucking no! This was not possible for a man addicted to alkohol for so many long years to stop this. It was too late for him. Why Ione could not see this?
Sure.... Hell... He felt uneasy with this topic. Uncomfortable? Yes, he felt uncomfortable about the situation. He should not live with a gentle woman, while there was risk of geting drukn and hurting her. He probably should not risk this. But somehow his heart ached for this. He made his mind, already... He could not...
Her worried face turned his thoughts around and he felt concerned and responsible for her right now. His frown deepened. Cycle? What the hell was that? Those moments when woman is bleeding? Yhea! He was an idiot when it comes to a women topics.
Pregnant???????? He was looking directly at her with a deep frown. What was she saying? How was it possible that she allowed him to make love to her, while she was with child?? Was she aware of it? No, she just said she thinks that she is pregnant. He shook his head in desbieleve. "What??" He breathed out frustrated. That was the last thing he would expect to hear from her right now. He looked away and threw his cloak to the floor.. Was he angry? Maybe... Maybe disapointed in himself to crawl into a bed with a pregnant woman! Angry at himself... for possibilty of hurting her. He looked back at her and saw that she was sobbing. "Are..." he came closer. "Are you crying?" he asked, gently puting a hand over her back. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:19 PM Post #7 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Sat Aug 02, 2008 6:51 am Arthur All other matters (even his own physical pains) had suddenly fled from Arthur’s mind. Time seemed to stand still despite the thunderous sound of his own pulse echoing inside of Arthur’s head. Every second that Darya withheld a response to Arthur’s question only worked to intensify his apprehension….if she was truly pregnant - with my child?? - then it would change everything. Arthur felt Darya’s slender hand press over the top of his where it rested on her stomach as if in silent confirmation.
“I see,” Arthur quietly acknowledged Darya’s explanation once she finally spoke. He was certain that her voice gave away her own apprehension at this new and very serious development in their relationship.
Pregnant. The word echoed in his mind as Arthur finished Darya’s sentence silently in his head and once again roughly swallowed as the weight of that word – her condition - pressed down on his conscience. Of course he would see to Darya’s needs and support both her and their child….but how in God’s name would Arthur be able to protect them from his enemies? And he would need to make provisions for them both for the day he would not return from battle….which Arthur knew was inevitable. His life was forfeit and thus Artorius Castus would leave his own child fatherless much as Uther had in Arthur’s youth. It was a family tradition. Darya had yet to meet Arthur’s discerning gaze, and was that avoidance an indication that she was concealing some detail in the matter? Yet as the Sarmatian leaned even closer to Arthur, his skepticism was quickly replaced with compassion….for the woman that he loved and who was now carrying his child.
And as Darya finally turned up her eyes to meet Arthur’s gaze, he shifted over on his side and brought the hand that had been cupped over Darya’s abdomen to brush the loose strands of hair from her face. Unfortunately, it was his wounded side that Arthur now had pressed to the bed…but he masked the discomfort from Darya’s view. Instead, he offered a gentle smile despite his pain and the obvious reservations they both had about Darya’s delicate condition. Her dark eyes appeared to be flooded with doubt and fear….was she afraid that Arthur was angry with her or would simply abandon her?
Arthur exhaled a breath through his nose in empathy while he tenderly smoothed his hand over Darya’s brow. Having children was something the two lovers had never discussed before….it had never seemed possible – the Roman Commander and his female Sarmatian ‘warrior’ becoming parents. “Angel, we shall…” Arthur began soothingly but hesitantly as he truly had no words. This new development still had the typically stoic Roman flustered. “…manage it together, I promise,” Arthur said while cupping at her cheek with all the reassurances he could muster both in his touch and in his liquid green eyes. Arthur then leaned in to place an almost chaste kiss at the corner of Darya’s mouth. Despite his outward show of strength and calm….Arthur’s gut was still taut with his own apprehension….a child…now? God’s punishment….surely. In a perfect world, Arthur would have no need to constantly beg God’s forgiveness for his sins….in a perfect world, he would rejoice in the news of the impending birth of his first child…in a perfect world…. …and then a firm knock came at the door to bring reality and duty flooding back into the room. Arthur outwardly groaned at the sound. But he had been expecting the return of his officers at any moment, and God willing, with news of a successful peace treaty mission. “Forgive me, Angel,” Arthur murmured with apologetic eyes as he forced himself to pull away from Darya; another groan at his physical aches and pains as the Commander shifted off the bed and stood to greet whoever was at his door. “Come!” Arthur called out with authority while his hands tugged at his black tunic to straighten his appearance before the door would open. His side twinged and his head swam….no doubt the Commander was still in need of bed rest, but duty called….and always would. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:20 PM Post #8 |
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Author: Unicorn Date: Sat Aug 02, 2008 7:07 am Dagonet Dagonet was looking at nurse's work instead of looking at Saoirse, so he was not aware of the look of her eyes asthey examined his face. He was not thinking right now about how bad his situation was... He was not thinking about anything at all. Just allowed himself a moment of breathing. Pain still squeezing his chest, but in a smaller grasp. He just let himself be numb for a moment. When nurse went away, Dagonet looked back at Saoirse and the way she tried her leg. Once her hand squeezed his, the tall knight looked down at it.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and put her head upon his shoulder... murmuring her words. In this brief moment Dagonet closed his eyes, both because he found a comfort in her presence and that she promised to look after that kind of things in the future. When she backed away slightly, there was a smile upon her face. Not a happy one, just a simple smile. His arms went slowly around her slender form, weakly feeling her body. And he would give a lifetime for this moment to last forever. Even if it was not completely happiest moment it made his heart ache for her... This moment made him believe there was something more to live for. That he could make a slight difference around him. If it was only the way to make her smile. That there was still something worth seeing it. Like her smile... Like her eyes...
She moved away slowly, minding her own wound and also his state. Dagonet allowed her this watching her leg, carefuly watching her injured leg... He wanted to insure that nothing else bad happens to her.
Her question caught him offguard. He looked back into her face with surprise in his eyes. Alright? Again? He was for a moment motionless, his eyes deep into hers. Suffering of his heart evident in his look, in his face. So deep suffering that he had never felt and never anybody had endured. Was he going to be alright again? Ever? He let this moment last for a longer time. This on the other hand was not the thing he wanted to see forever.... He did not want this question linger between them. Linger in him. This was the time to answer this question - without hesitation, without doubts. It was the time to give answer of his future life. Was he going to be alright? "Aye... Little one." he whispered in the similar way as Saoirse did, just a little above whisper. He would not be again the same man as before. "I'll be alright... somehow...." He swallowed in difficulty of this statement and the things he had to do to be alright again. To be guardian of others once more. To mend his broken heart. "I just need time....." |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:22 PM Post #9 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Sat Aug 02, 2008 9:20 am Eyla Oh, but Eyla played! She had come to the infirmary to receive her herbs, but Lancelot had been a delectable discovery. The dark knight was handsome, and the harlot smiled up at him. Her lips lilted into a feline smile, and her eyes sparkled with intent. She knew this man very well, and was not ashamed. Lancelot’s touch was heavenly, and his talent for charm was…positively arousing. There were few men who could talk like Lancelot, and Eyla favoured that. She liked the challenge, the competition, the verbal duelling that came before pleasure. The woman curled a tendril of hair around her finger, feeling the silken hair tease across her skin. She stood taller, arching her back into a more sensual and petulant shape. She wanted him to fall at her feet, but in truth, he was more clever than that. This conversation was not all about seduction. Lancelot wanted to know about his commander, and he would. At a price… The knight took her hair from her fingers, and Eyla did not protest. Her hand dropped to her side…but when he pulled at it? Oh gods, her hand gripped her skirts hard, and she hissed a gasp through her teeth. Her head fell back slightly, exposing the most perfect neck. Pain? Just slightly, but enough to send a shiver down her spine. Her lips parted.
He released her hair, and Eyla’s lips shut slowly. She blinked heavily up at him, the arousal evident in her eyes. He was good, because he knew how to play her. They had pleasured each other many times, and there was a familiarity there. He knew her body, he knew how to make her want. But this was very different. Lancelot was using her needs, to find out something. But what? Oh, but if Eyla had understood the nature of Arthur and Lancelot’s relationship, she might have manipulated it. She might have understood. But the harlot did not, and so she merely smiled up at the man. Eyla assumed this was another game, and she loved to play… Did he have a right to know gossip? Was he that bored? Eyla arched an elegant eyebrow at him, and laughed. It was sweet, but almost mocking… “Good gods Lancelot, I had no idea you were so important…” Eyla grinned. Her dark eyes sparkled, and she laughed again. Her hand curled tighter into the folds of her skirt, attempting to calm her excitement, and she whispered up at him. Her voice was low, purring. “I had better be very careful what I say then. I would hate to get into trouble…hmmm…?” Oh, she would not tell him anything for free. He knew her nature…
“Pitiably injured and abed? He is quite…capable…” Eyla smiled cheekily, and laughed. She released her skirts, and touched his chest again. Her small fingers tugged lightly at his tunic, wantonly, and she did not take her eyes off him. He seemed so very concerned with the Commander’s wellbeing, and it intrigued her. Was the first knight growing soft? Gods, she hoped not. Indeed, she hinted at pleasuring Arthur. She played, because she knew no harm in it. The woman spoke again, softly. “Artorius can be terribly demanding. His quarters are such a mess, and I do so enjoy his company. He keeps me busy, lover…and sometimes I have naught time for anything else…” Eyla feigned exhaustion, but then burst into feminine laughter. She tipped her head back slightly, her dark hair curling about her shoulders. “His woman does not like me much…” Eyla laughed, gripping Lancelot’s tunic tighter. She moved closer to the knight, pressing her small body against his lean and muscular form. Her mind strayed to the image of Darya, stood moodily and highly suspicious. Gods, but she was wonderful! Jealousy was such an amusing emotion, such a delectable weakness. Looking up at Lancelot, she pressed her mouth against his jaw. Just gently. “Although I am always keen for your distractions, I do not feel you can fully interrogate me here…” Eyla smile suggestively. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:24 PM Post #10 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Sat Aug 02, 2008 11:34 am Lancelot The self professed first knight smiled at Eyla's reaction when he let go the strand of hair he'd gently pulled on. It promised much, but gave away nothing. He knew her; he knew her lusts and desires and he also knew she was a master manipulater if there was something she wanted. He also knew that she knew him; they'd seen much of each other in the past and fit well together in times of pure passion. Lancelot's smile broadened at a particular memory as the harlot's mouth parted slightly, her head dropping back to expose the long line of beautiful throat. The knight shifted a bit as he rested his hands on his hips - a pretty sight to be sure, but one that wasn't new. He wasn't in the mood to play her type of games - but he knew he'd have to if he wanted her to confess what she knew about Arthur.
His smile dropped from his battered face at her teasing. The dark brows lowered and his eyes narrowed to sparkling slits - he knew Eyla didn't mean anything by it, but his words with the Optio earlier still burned and twisted inside.
Lancelot's angular face seemed even sharper at her words - he glanced down at her hold on his tunic, and had the sudden thought of taking this woman, here in the middle of the infirmary, in front of everyone - including Gawain, who she'd had the audacity to 'check over' when he was standing right in front of her. He highly doubted Arthur had ever done anything with Eyla, other than to feel guilt at any attraction to her and rush off to pray for his sins. Lancelot had been here, had bedded her, and had given her as much pleasure as she had him. Arthur was too loyal and too innocent to stoop to their level. He was too righteous and too good to lower himself next to Lancelot - to allow for Lancelot's past, to acknowledge the blackness in the first knight that only Arthur had been allowed to see the reasons for. Lancelot barely surpressed a snarl; luckily, Eyla's laughter covered the noise.
A dark, rumbling laugh erupted from Lancelot, and he felt it against Eyla's body as she stepped closer to him. "For good reason, I think, my darling. Sarmatian women are not always the most patient of our kind." He smiled, and shuttered his emotions with the expression. Fuck Arthur. Lancelot would deal with that .... issue later. When he'd had a bath, some food, a rest, and perhaps Eyla bouncing under him. And not necessarily in that order. His body tightened in anticipation, the anger he felt toward their shared 'concern' only dampening a bit. It would serve Arthur right if he fucked the man's maid to get information the commander was hesitant to share with Lancelot himself. Lancelot - the only man that had knowingly come to love Arthur after hating him from the beginning. Love. Gods damn him. And me.
Her warm lips were against his jaw, and it was all Lancelot could do to not sling her over his shoulder and take her against the wall. His anger boiled inside him - green eyes haunted and tormented him, even as he turned his head and breathed deeply of the harlot who'd just come from Arthur's bed. He feathered his own mouth over her cheek, and pressed a long fingered hand against her back. "How can I be sure you'll give me what I want?" His voice was low and guttural, and he pulled back, separating their bodies. Her power lay in touch and manipulation, and he wasn't going to give himself over that easily. Something appeared in the corner of his good eye, and he grunted in shock as the crotchety nun was suddenly next to him, slapping something wet over his swollen shiner.
All of Lancelot's carefully planned words flew out the window; his hand rose helplessly and held the stinking poltice to his black eye. He glared at Gawain, who had followed the nun over. "I see you found her," he gritted. "I cannot thank you enough." The sarcasm in his tone dripped from his lips, and he turned his gaze on Eyla as the nun chastised her as well. You'll receive what you came for? Oh, this just got more interesting. Had Arthur sent Eyla to retrieve some type of medicine for him - without telling Lancelot about it? Was the commander worse than Lancelot believed? This day couldn't possibly get any worse. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:25 PM Post #11 |
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Author: Kay Date: Sat Aug 02, 2008 4:17 pm Guinevere The princess watched as the potion took effect, but just then a sudden noise caught her attention. A scream. Neeria's scream! Guinevere whirled around just in time to see her friend being dragged atop a horse with one of the Romans. She stared in horror as the speeding animal galloped away, taking Neeria with it.
The princess turned back to the injured girl. Mona's voice was no more than a whisper. Guinevere saw a glimpse of the warrior she had known in the girl's eyes as she looked up at the princess. Then Mona's eyelids drooped and she lay still, but the steady rise and fall of her chest were sure signs that she still lived. The princess hoped that Mona would regain her wits whilst she slept. One of their finest female warriors seemed lost now; speeding away on an enemy horse; Guinevere did not want to lose another. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:26 PM Post #12 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Sat Aug 02, 2008 4:34 pm Ione As she placed her own cloak about her shoulders getting ready to go find something to eat, Ione could tell things were already not what she thought they'd be. Damn it! She had betrayed Javier's love with a man who she knew little about. What was she? Some sort of ninny? The memory of lying in Javier's arms while he placed the still present ring on her finger...it weighed like gold on her soul...so precious. Ione had hoped that Mirtha would understand, but all she saw was a frown. The feeling that she had said something wrong. The same feeling she had gotten once before. Ione cursed herself for placing her love on such rocky ground. A free spirit like Mirtha would never settle down, and why had she offered to help him anyway? Each man created his (or her) own destiny, and Mirtha seemed to have set his course firmly. She always cared too much. The way his frown deepened. The shake of his head...
Ione's eyes now became wide as Mirtha turned from her and threw his cloak on the ground, and the voice that had once professed her love for this man was now shaking, "I-I said I think I am pregnant..." Ione felt Javier's spirit close to her giving her strength. Gods above! She should have left with him for Spain when she had the chance. She loved him so much! How could she possibly love anyone else as much? Plus she refused to take off his ring, and she was going to have a child. Javier's child. The young weaver could not force Mirtha to stay and take care of someone else's child... it was not fair to Mirtha nor to Javier....
"Mirtha..." Ione felt tears in her eyes, and his hand on her back. Ione moved away from him, and went to stand by the door. He had to understand and hear what she had to say. "I don't think it'd be right for you to stay here, and look after me and Javier's child. I love Javier still with all of my heart, and...will never take off his ring. I will be alright..." Ione opened the door to the fading light of the day, and turned to the man she had given herself to twice. "All I ask of you...is to just be my friend like you always have been. You told me once that you were a free spirit, and I cannot take that from you...I just feel that it is wrong to give myself to you while my thoughts are still with Javier..." Shit Ione! Ye should have thought of that before you thought stupidly The young woman was thoroughly angry at herself, and she needed to be alone. Somewhere inside, Ione still hoped that Javier would come back for her, though she had already felt that she'd be a single mother. As a matter of fact, she needed no one's help. Ione was sick of blindly falling in love, and decided that she had had enough of being hurt.... "I am going for a walk...I just need to be alone right now..." Ione took a few steps into the dimming gray of late afternoon, and began walking... |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:27 PM Post #13 |
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Author: linnet Date: Sat Aug 02, 2008 8:37 pm Juna Merlin’s smile of satisfaction directed at Juna did not escape her attention. Not much involving Merlin ever escaped her attention. The smile flashed just a hint of cockiness, and she savored it like the warmth of the sun. She herself smiled in deep appreciation of his charismatic power. And she smiled in relief. There had been no violence or bloodshed between the Woads and the Romans here. She trusted that meant Merlin could keep his promise of peace. She had no delusions it could be a permanent peace, but right now more warfare would be disastrous to his people, and thus to Merlin. Movement and some sound behind her shifted Juna’s attention momentarily from Merlin. Ash was moving away from the others, and as he walked by Mona, he unceremoniously rolled her aside with his foot. Juna’s already favorable opinion of the quiet young warrior was solidly reinforced. She watched as he found an isolated place to sit, and it was easy to see that the wound she had helped him with yesterday had been aggravated. Eala too left the others to be with Ash. Juna looked once more at Merlin who was giving an order as the last of the Romans were about to leave. She’d just have to miss seeing the rest of his triumph, because Ash needed her. With her bag slung over her shoulder, she skirted around Guinevere and Mona. Merlin’s daughter was just about to give some of the potion to the lunatic. It would keep the woman quiet one way or the other, the healer thought. She tried to approach Ash slowly so as not to startle Eala. “Ash,” she said, nodding her reserved greeting as she set her bag on the ground. She looked into Eala’s dark worried eyes and smiled to reassure the girl. Juna was very grateful that Ash had succeeded in rescuing Eala from the fort. And she found it sad that he was here now, hurting, when he should be receiving praise and honor. She trusted that Merlin would officially recognize the young man’s bravery as soon as he was able. The healer knelt beside Ash, and carefully began to remove the tattered, dirty remnants of the bandage she had applied to his wound previously. She worked as gently as possible, knowing the pain involved in pulling away the bits of cloth soaked into the bloody gashed flesh and later dried. She tried to keep her own expression relaxed for Eala’s sake.
Juna’s neutral expression turned to a concerned frown as she glanced at Ash before standing to look back at what was happening. She saw Neeria being carried away on horseback, slumped in the grasp of one of the Romans. She couldn’t continue to watch what would happen. Her priority right now was getting Ash out of danger. She knelt down again and went back to work on the injury. “Today has convinced me that Merlin’s female warriors are far more trouble than they are worth. Women can be fierce but we’re an unstable, emotional lot, Ash.” |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:28 PM Post #14 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Sun Aug 03, 2008 2:01 am Ash Juna would get to him as soon as she was able, and until then he would just wait. Ash was not a dramatic person. He'd didn't linger and make a scene of himself in front of the others. If possible, Ash was one to avoid fuss altogether. He had suffered innumerable cruelties throughout his lifetime. His sanity had been challenged, his faith tested, his body battered, and his spirit broken. At times the world was a dismal place - a trickster, a liar - that blindsided him into believing there was no hope at all. Throughout trial and tribulation, however, Ash had learned to endure, to rise above his troubles and prevail. The impairment that poisoned him now was just another trial to endure, to rise above. He wasn't about to throw salt into his own wound by convulsing into unnecessary hysterics. What didn't kill him would only make him stronger. He lethargically turned his head against the fallen log he rested in front of, watching Eala as she hunkered down and gestured worriedly to his bloody mid-section. She had re-defined what it meant to him to be stronger. Strength came from a place much deeper than physicality. It came from the heart. It came from compassion. The irony, Ash doted upon, for he had always viewed himself as a selfish being. Perhaps he still was despite his sacrifices. He needed her more than she needed him, or maybe he just needed to be needed. To feel again. Ash didn't recall when he had first become one of the fallen.
Unstable and emotional or not, Juna was an angel of mercy. He removed his hand from keeping pressure on his side and reached behind his head to tug off his soiled tunic, allowing the healer easier access to the wound in question. The cold did not bother him - in fact the nullifying sensation was quite welcome under the circumstances. He almost couldn't feel a thing. Almost. She peeled away the filthy leather strips that had once been Eala's wristbands, the ones he had holed up the gash with after the stitches there had completely burst. "Ah!" he hissed, color flooding to his pale cheeks. He grit his teeth, causing the columns in his neck to visibly strain. An indistinct shout momentarily distracted Juna, but Ash's attention remained fixated on the grotesque opening in his side. His body involuntarily shuddered, not from the cold, but from the pain he was in. The physical agony was not even half as bad as he felt on the inside. The sick feeling that had been washing over him since leaving Badon was borderline unbearable. It had never occurred to him how quickly an infection might settle into a wound such as his from prolonged exposure. His unsteady hand briefly hovered over the opening, his fingers curling inward to his palm then and the fist dropping aside again. He swallowed hard, allowing his head to loll against the fallen trunk behind him as Juna returned to her ministrations. "Don't worry," Ash told Eala, watching her with half-lidded eyes. He gave a weak wry smile. "You won't get rid of me that easily." He didn't plan on dying today, and he certainly wasn't going to even consider it while Eala was watching. Besides, he had faith in Juna's healing capabilities. Ash was certain he had been worse off many-a-time before. He'd make it as always. He was a fighter. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 12 2010, 09:30 PM Post #15 |
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Author: Darya Date: Sun Aug 03, 2008 3:19 am Darya How strange that in a situation where so much could…or should…be said, there was mainly silence. The dark Sarmatian sensed that her lover apparently was just as shocked and surprised as she had been…or still was. However, Darya interpreted it as a good sign that Arthur did not withdraw from her immediately and assumed that he was perhaps silently talking to his God. She knew he did that very often… It was something she did not always understand…but had accepted and learned to respect. But then there came his quiet acknowledgment of her words and it encouraged her to finally let her dark gaze meet his emerald one.
Darya held her lover’s gaze for a bit longer, but when he cupped her cheek and briefly pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, the dark-haired closed her eyes and unconsciously clenched her jaw slightly. Maybe she should have waited a bit longer…maybe she should not have told Arthur already. He was in pain, the Woads were still a threat…he and the knights had just returned from battle… All this plus her pregnancy certainly being the most unexpected of all possible news she could have given him suddenly sent a jolt of guilt through her mind. But on the other hand…Arthur was the father and therewith the first one who should know…as soon as possible. That was how it should be, was it not? Gods, how should she know? No one had ever told her how to deal with such a situation. “I’m sorry…”, she finally murmured and briefly but gently brushed her nose against Arthur’s…and her lips parted to add something… …when a firm knock came at the door. Darya re-opened her eyes at the noise and Arthur’s reaction to it. She just looked at the Roman, her eyes still flooded with emotions, but she did not say anything. Their private moment was over…
The Sarmatian could not tell if she wanted to curse whoever it was who had just interrupted them by knocking at the door or if she was even grateful for the distraction. Now that she had told Arthur what was going…now that he knew, Darya felt…strange. To actually talk about the latest development in her life for the first time since Isolde had confirmed that she was not ill but with child finally made the dark-haired realize it. A lot would change for her…for her and Arthur, she guessed. And yet Darya was still not sure how to handle her own new condition. Since Sarmatia had been run over by Rome and since she had come to Britain, there had not been a single moment of her even considering having children one day. Under Corvus' command she could have died any day…and even though that had somewhat changed by now, this island was still a dangerous place. Not to mention the fact that the life she had lived so far had mainly been one with no space for such a fragile creature like a child. Back home in Sarmatia, yes…that would have worked…but here? In this life as a warrior? As the assassin she knew was still inside her? Again Darya blinked and gave Arthur an understanding nod after having shot a brief glance towards the door. She knew it was not Lancelot standing in front of it for the First Knight usually entered without knocking or waiting for permission for that matter. Perhaps the Optio was back already? Or maybe it was Neeve, who had finally returned with food and to check on the Commander’s injury again? The Sarmatian took a deep breath and schooled her features to neutrality to mask her inner emotional turmoil. She shifted on the bed and stood as well, silently scanning her lover as she did so. He was all the Commander again now…but as her eyes lingered on where she knew his injury was, Darya almost thought she could feel his physical pain for a moment. And no doubt her news was not really helpful to make him feel better. Not in that life the two of them were living. She knew the Roman well enough to know that it would keep his mind busy…very busy…and not necessarily in a positive way only. Sighing quietly, the woman brushed her hands over her dress to straighten out the thick drapery and prepared herself to leave if it was indeed the Optio who had returned…or any other urgent duty call for Artorius Castus, the Commander. Dark eyes lingered on the heavy door…waiting to see who would enter the room… |
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