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| September 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 22 2010, 01:55 PM (2,537 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Apr 30 2010, 09:41 PM Post #166 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Sun Sep 28, 2008 7:17 pm Merlin
“Yes,” Merlin answered Guinevere with a tight affirmative nod, his eyes never leaving the traitorous Mona. The madwoman continued to spit and rant and rave as the other warriors restrained her, pinning her to the ground, and as Merlin walked forward, kicking aside the rumpled furs that he and Juna had so recently been ensconced in, sleeping peacefully, he was rapidly deciding what to do with Mona- and by the time he had reached her, he had made up his mind, and not in her favor. Had they been in the village, with plenty of time and no enemy at their backs, they might have been able to chance locking her up for a while and seeing if that revealed the truth behind her “madness”- but as it was, they could not leave her alive. She had attacked his daughter, she had attacked him, she might or might not have had a hand in Neeria’s current fate…mad or not, she was a traitor and a danger. He advanced on her- spotting out the corner of his eye Eala scurrying away and going to stand protectively at Ash’s side- and stopped only inches from Mona’s prone form, looking down at her with his arms crossed severely over his chest. “You have disobeyed our laws, Mona,” he began in a quiet voice, seeming eerily calm for a man who had just had an attack made on his life- but this was one of those times when he was completely open to the will of the Gods, hollow and empty, channeling only their will through his words. They did their will through him, and it was inexorable. “It is you who have brought such disfavor on us, you who have caused the capture of Neeria and the deaths of my other warriors. You have struck out at my daughter, and at me, who are the Gods’ chosen. You must die.” Around the circle of tense, wary onlookers, there was a rumbling murmur of agreement, and some unsheathed knives, or if they already held them, eased them into positions more convenient for stabbing. If Merlin had said so, it must be true- Mona had brought bad luck on them. It certainly explained a lot. And it meant that getting rid of her was the solution, the way back to order and peace. “May the Messenger speed your journey,” Merlin intoned, reaching down to his belt for his own knife, his movements slow and deliberate. He would do this deed himself, cut off with his own hands this rotten branch that had infected the tree of his people. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 04:48 PM Post #167 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Sun Sep 28, 2008 8:41 pm Vanora Vanora was curious about the hawk, but decided again that if Tristan wanted her to know what happened, he'd tell her. For now, she decided it best to go back to her work, as well as talking to Linnette. Brown eyes looked down at her guest who had taken the last few bites of her food, and had pushed the bowl toward her. Vanora took it and placed it in the wash bin while she listened to Linnette. She was always willing to listen. Most of the time, it was to gain news that she could talk about amongst the people that drifted in and out, but there were other things, personal things like what was on her friend's mind, that she'd never spread around. Things like this were meant to be kept between themselves. That was the sign of a good friendship. She just hoped that whatever advice she needed to give, Vanora would give it from her heart. No, she could not claim to know what Linnette was feeling, but she and Bors had lost dear friends...well that probably was not the same as losing someone one was married to, but it was a loss none the less....
Vanora's heart went out to her. At least if Bors died, the children, except for the twins, were old enough to recall their brave father. But how would one ever explain to a child that had never seen his or her father what they were like, the brave deeds they had done...the golden memories, sweet as a Spring rain over the moors? The older woman moved to sit next to Linnette, and made ready to speak. She just hoped that the few things she had to say would bring comfort. "Linnette, I know memories are not the same as actually having Gedeon here, the Gods know nothing can replace that, but that is where memories come in to play," Vanora gave a slight smile. "I know this might sound a bit odd, but you know how to write. Perhaps you could start a small book, and jot down every thing you can recall of Gedeon." Looking down at the table top and playing with a small crumb absently, she thought a bit more, then spoke further. "After you have recalled your memories, then ask others what they recall of his deeds and his life. When the child grows up, you can give it to him or her explaining that this was their father...." It had been a great idea, but what if that idea brought nothing but pain and more questions? Well, it was certainly better than telling the child his or her father had run off to fight in battles, or with another woman like most of the widows she knew had done in the past. It was certainly not the best way to leave a child with good memories. Vanora knew what agreat thinker and writer Linnette was, and was sure that the woman could paint a very loving and brave picture of the father the child would never know. Paint? "Linnette, do you know of any artists who are good? Romans are suppose to be pretty good. Perhaps if you got an artist to paint or draw a picture of Gedeon as you describe him to the artist...maybe in the front of the book..." Okay, she had only meant to say a few words, not give a lecture, but she had caught herself babbling again, but softly and just between them. She wondered if Linnette would actually go for it. Writing, Vanora had heard, was a good way of getting things off of one's chest... Vanora just decided to be quiet now and just let the poor woman talk, and in order to do so, she bent her elbow and rested it on the table top, then made a fist and pretended that she was resting her chin on it... |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 04:49 PM Post #168 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Mon Sep 29, 2008 6:17 am Linnette
"Hmmm." Linnette turned her back to the counter and leaned on it, crossing her arms in front of her, her eyes lowered and her jaw tense as she thought about that. Write? On the surface, it seemed odd- books were supposed to be about grand, important subjects, weren't they? Written by far-off, important, or well-traveled people? She was not an author! Then, the thought of the small book Drake had lent her flashed into her mind, and she recalled him saying that it took place in the town where he had grown up. Had someone ordinary written that, to immortalize a place of memories for them? It seemed like a preposterous idea...writers were supposed to be great, high-minded men, were they not?....but then again, maybe just possible. Her mind wandered into fantasy momentarily, imagining herself sitting at her father's great desk in the Villa, bent over a book and neatly penning her life story, childhood to her trip to the fort to her marriage- and she gave a small snort of a laugh, tipping back her head and raising her eyes ruefully to the ceiling. Silly idea. She could write- she could form letters and words that made sense- but how could she write? A whole book? And was it worth it, just for one child to read someday? Vanora was speaking again, and Linnette lowered her gaze to look at the other woman, curious despite her skepticism as to what she might have to say next.
"Artists? I wish I did." Linnette gave a bitter half laugh again at that. Sure, there were artists in the great cities, men who could paint wonderful pictures on the walls of great houses, and sculpt marble to look like living forms- but here? At Badon? There was no one even remotely like that! Still, Vanora's words had started an ache inside Linnette that even now nagged at her, more insistent that any talk of books. To have a picture of Gedeon- something that she could show the child, something that she herself could look at, as the years passed and her memories- as all memories did- inevitably grew fuzzy around the edges...a sudden feeling of panic siezed Linnette, and she stood up suddenly straighter, her eyes widening as she looked sharply at Vanora. It would be years and years and years without him...and she would not always be able to remember him as clearly as she did now... "You...you don't know anyone who can draw, do you? I mean, I don't, and..." she broke off, hints of frustrated tears stinging her eyes. It was so hopeless- and yet so necessary! There was no way to get a picture of a man who was dead and lost, and yet, she needed one! She needed one! |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 04:53 PM Post #169 |
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Author: Unicorn Date: Mon Sep 29, 2008 1:42 pm Dagonet Dagonet longed to be alone with her in his rooms. Longed for this to be over... and being once more healthy. He longed to be ready to do whatever he had to. He longed to be able to stand up on his own. But he was here... helplessly laying here. Nothing to do... Nothing he could do. He missed his sparings... he missed the small freedom they had around... to walk... to be somewhere he would like to be. not like this! He missed to be alone... to think... to weap after Gedeon... He could not mourn him properly. He could not show tears to everybody around. He just could not... The tall knight saw the flash of anger in Saoirse's face and in her movements. Awaited for that anger to fill her entirely and burst out on him. He saw her looking at him in her eximining look... He knew that she was assesing if he was laying or not. In truth.. everybody who knew him a little bit only, knew that he could not lie... that he was not capable to say something against him. And he was not talking about stretching his legs only to convince her, but it was truth. How long could he stay in bed!? He was tired of it!
Dagonet looked away for a second and sighed deeply. Gateway... oh, how much he would like to just run away from this horrible place? But he knew all to good, that he could not. He was not healed fully... But he wanted to just leave the place for some time only. Just to be out of here for a while. Saoirse stood up from the bed and Dagonet wondered if she was in any pain from that leg injury. He hoped not... A worried frown crossed his face for a second, before she turned around to look in his eyes once more. A tender touch on his head made him close his eyes tiredly for a brief moment, then looked into her eyes.
And with that the big Sarmatian smiled slightly. "Great... I would like that very much, love" The perspective of going anywhere made him feel excited in truth. He had to leave this room, before he will choke with the air in here. "I think I'll try to get some sleep before you return." he cleared his throat and once more a little frown appeared on his brow, as he closed his eyes slowly. "Had a real rough night... Wake me up when you come back." He oppened one eye and looked at her. "With food only, I feel hungry" he smiled at her and allowed his head to lol to the side... Mirtha Mirtha saw that Ione was not feeling good. That she was in fact really weak and... not in the mood for visitors. But he was worried and could not help this feeling.
A deep frown appeared on his face. Child? What was wrong? And suddenly a cold sweat pour over him. Was it something because of his doings? Was it because he had used her body some time ago? Was it possible? A smile dropped from his face and he shook his head slowly... embarrassed. Was he reasponsible for this? He was not able to ask any further question or tell her that he was sorry. Ione's hand reached for his and he squeezed it briefly in suport. Only briefly because a nun took him by the arm and held him like he was some kind of a bad guy... caught in action. He frowned at her, surprised and a bit irritated by her doing.
Losing her child? It came with such a shock that Mirtha oppened his mouth in disbielieve and could not say a word... And another guilty wave passed over him. He had left her alone in the shop... He had not searched for her earlier. and if he was there with her, maybe, just maybe she would be here faster and something more could be done to her.
He had not seen her entering the room. He looked surprised at Linesse and a frown deepened, there was confusion and worry writen on his face.
Mirtha gaze dropped from Linesse to the floor as Ione spoke. Pain evident in her voice.
Stressed out? Was it his fault again? He made her angry... He made her leave her own house. Mirtha was now angry at himself. And would probably storm out of the room in the matter of seconds to look for another bottle, just to stop feeling guilty. But he stood in place like paralized.
The both woman asked him about what was he going to do. And in matter of fact he did not know. He frowned even more and scratched his chin. Then he walked to Ione's side, just beside Linnesse and looked down at Ione first then at Linnesse. "I'll stay..." he said and took slowly Ione's hand from Linnesse. "I'm not leaving anywhere" he announced looking at Linness then back at the noon. He was not sure. But he could only stay and support Ione in this moment. Guilt rushing trough his vains. He swallowed hard and just stood, squeezing lightly Ione's hand. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 04:55 PM Post #170 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Mon Sep 29, 2008 7:19 pm Lancelot The first knight could not help but crack a smile as Arthur did the same - corporal punishment of the sexual kind. He shook his head and rolled his eyes - eye - at himself as Arthur folded his knee and continued to watch Lancelot intently as he decided to go ahead and mentioned the damnable Optio. Better for Lancelot to say it first - he knew it was coming, despite Arthur's friendly manner and the fact that he was cracking jokes this early in the morning. A brief thought flitted like a tiny winged insect across Lancelot's mind - pain, possession, the wood of the table had to have bitten hard into Arthur's back - the leather strap stiff and unyielding to the desire Arthur must have felt - Lancelot had been in control at that point, and he knew no other way. He blinked into the watery grey light at Arthur's window, and shoved that memory to the little cage where he kept it - unable and unwilling to let it go - the vision of Arthur's face, twisted in passion as he'd at last been able to achieve his release mixed with the look in his eyes as he'd forced Lancelot out of his quarters. A whore indeed. A whore for anything and everything he could get from the other man - and Lancelot bit his lip in anger and regret and desperately pushed that idea away. He wasn't ready to examine that just yet. He wasn't ready to admit to it either, truth be told. That kind of thought required a lot more sleep then he'd gotten - and yes, a fucking bath.
Lancelot's brows rose high on his forehead. Pursing his mouth, he folded his legs more comfortably and leaned forward without realizing it. It was as if they were having the most serious of meetings - and yet they were ensconced upon Arthur's bed, of all places. Somehow, appropriate. "Are you sure that is wise, Arthur? He has eyes and ears everywhere," Lancelot started. Aside from the fact that I knew I'd have to atone for my actions when it happened. What's gotten into him? And by the gods, but is he treating me with deference?
And again, what? "Castus." Lancelot's voice began as loose and flowing, liquid in its intensity as usual. But the more he spoke, the tighter and more painful it became to speak his truth. "You are leaving me here, and you're riding out with the Optio who caused this problem in first place? Injured? With one day's rest since we arrived back at this place?" His body stiffened and his 'mask' dropped away. Only this man could make that happen - and that made Lancelot angrier. "You're leaving me here?" he repeated. "I am your - oh, for the god's own sake," he spat out. "Do you truly mean to tell me you trust that arrogant snake more than you do me? Someone you've known for years and who's fought at your side during countless battles...." Except for the last one. Lancelot sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He thought back over what Arthur had just said - the casualness of his words, the tone of his voice. He seemed to be alright with leaving Lancelot behind. So be it. That might actually give Lancelot a chance to do some of the damn thinking he apparently needed to do. And perhaps a chance to speak with Catherine again - and to ask her to explain herself and her comments. And then he could tear up Galahad - and then he could walk away from this place, and disappear like so much smoke. And then be taken for the deserter he would be. The idea of having his control over his own life being taken away from him was actually peaceful in this moment - to be given no chance, no say - to be told when he would die - Lancelot's good eye closed briefly, and he dreamed a quick moment when his life wouldn't be filled with pain or indecision or hurt anymore. But that would mean no Arthur - "What else do you wish of me?" he spoke quietly and without rancor. Lancelot's gaze shifted from their folded, seemingly comfortable legs on the bed, to Arthur's familiar and confouding face. He hoped to see compassion there - or at least understanding. It was all he could bring himself to cope with at the moment. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 04:56 PM Post #171 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Mon Sep 29, 2008 8:28 pm Linnesse
Well- so be it. Linnesse still didn’t understand what he had to do with all this, but his confrontational attitude had lessened, Sister Margaret seemed content to let him stay as long as he didn’t interfere, and Linnesse’s priority now was to follow the nun’s instructions and go get that tea. With a last anxious glance at Ione, her pale face making a frightening contrast with her dark hair, Linnesse left the private room and retraced her steps back to the storeroom, where she made a beeline for the brazier Sister Margaret had described. The tea was steeped to a dark, brownish color, and looked ready, so Linnesse poured a cup and set it on a tray, along with a glass of water and a small bottle of honey, in case it was all right to sweeten it, and stepped back out into the main room, carefully balancing the laden tray. Drake was still out there. Despite her haste to bring Ione her medicine, Linnesse couldn’t help but throw a sharp glance in the direction of the trainer, who was now standing next to Cassidy and Fleur’s bed, apparently talking to the younger of the two girls, who was standing on the bed itself and thus about eye to eye with the much taller man. Fleur looked enthusiastic, babbling away about something, but Cassidy, sitting on the opposite end of the bed from the other two, didn’t look nearly so contented- and Linnesse made another mental note to go back to them have a word with Drake as soon as she got a free moment. Well…at least try. Maybe she could just set Mother Lavinia on him instead. It seemed safer- but she couldn’t just leave him to bother those poor girls for no reason. Ione first, though. Linnesse turned in a swirl of blue skirt and continued on into Ione’s room, where she set the tray down on the bedside table, and after a quick confirming glance at Sister Margaret, held the mug up for Ione to drink from. “This is…” she broke off, realizing she didn’t know, and looked again to the nun, who was now busy at the foot of the bed, propping a pillow up under Ione’s feet so that they were a bit elevated. She stepped back, pulling the blanket neatly back into place. “Black haw,” the nun supplied crisply. “It should help stop the contractions.” If it isn’t too late. Linnesse felt as though she could clearly hear the nun’s unspoken caveat, falling into the empty space between them like a hammer blow. The other woman’s lips were pressed into a thin, tense line. Linnesse had never had a miscarrying patient before, but she had been told before, during her training- there was usually nothing one could do about it. There were a few things that could be tried, but usually, if it was to happen, it happened. It seemed to be sometimes the will of God. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 04:58 PM Post #172 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Mon Sep 29, 2008 9:24 pm Ione Ione kept her hand reached out while the nun had explained what was happening in further detail to Mirtha and Linnesse. This was the time she needed friends, and she had two of them here. Titrus and Quintus had been there for her the night before, and she was grateful to them as well...
Ione could hear the compassion and concern in the healer's voice. Tears ran from Ione's eyes which she had closed, then opened again, slowly, to see that the healer was crouched next to her bed holding her hand. Ione took it , but prayed that no contractions would come lest she break the delicate hand by accident. While the nun was still conversing with Mirtha, Ione looked at Linnesse and had mouthed a 'thank you' for being close. It had been a long night filled with sorrows and heartache.. the realization that a true friend had died (Accolan), and the overwhelming fear that Javier would not return for her, plus the sorrow she felt at knowing Linnette had lost her husband. Ione could not recall having met Gedeon, but if Linnette had married him, he must have been a good man. The nun, having finished her course with the stable master, seemed to answer Linnesse's question....
...Despite the severe pain, Ione had a slight humorous vision of Mirtha knocking the daylights out of the nun for she had seen his temper. Thankfully, the nun knew when enough was enough and turned her back on Mirtha and moved over to the bed to continue to tend to the patient while Linnesse had given Ione's hand a firm squeeze as she stood making ready to fetch the tea. Ione hoped that it tasted better than what the nun had been giving her....right now, even a strong ale or wine would have tasted good (and Ione rarely drank). Just as Linnesse had left go of her hand, Ione felt a stabbing pain on the right side of her stomach, and then a slight movement of the doomed baby. Why could someone just stop the pain and save her child? Her mouth went open in a silent scream as her back arched, then set back down on the mattress as the pain subsided leaving her gasping for air, 'oh....gods...it hurts....' Her slender long fingers digging into the blankets turning her knuckles white. Opening her eyes, Ione looked over at Mirtha who was walking toward her bedside coming to stand by Linnesse who had not left yet....
Ione thought she saw Linnesse leave the room to get the tea, and just lie there exhausted and beyond tired and in the company of Mirtha and the nun. Ione thought for a moment that she had seen Javier next to her bedside, holding her hand as he had so long ago, or so it seemed, but then the sort of dream had vanished... ...it was moment's later when Linnesse had returned with the tea, holding it up to the weaver's lips for her to drink...
Ione was ready to try anything, anything to save the child she was sure was Javier's, and reached out with a free hand to take the tea while the other hand was held by Mirtha who had shot a glimpse of defiance shot in the nun's direction. Sister Margaret helped Ione to sit up a bit, and the distressed woman took a small sip of the hot brew then pushed the mug away, allowing the nun to gently lie her back on the bed, "thank you for the tea..." Ione looked from Linnesse to Sister Maragert then Mirtha, holding the hope that this tea would do what the nun said it would. For a moment, it seemed that the pains had gone away, but then Ione felt an agonizing pain and she left out what sounded like a sob mixed with a scream '....AHHH....' The young face screwed up in agony while, having forgotten that she was holding Mirtha's hand, squeezed the hand turning her knuckles white, her back arched, eyes closed with tears freely streaming down her sweat ridden face. Ione felt her sweating body begin to strain, wanting to push the pain from it, her grasp becoming harder. Between her legs, Ione could feel the accumulation of a sort of sticky wet substance (blood). Seeing what was happening, the nun fled to the door, and urgently called in for another nun to bring towels, fresh water and herbs and whatever else was needed and also to assisst she and Linnesse, discretely closed the door for privacy, then turned back toward the bedside already stripping back the blanket. Ione was gasping for air, her heart racing from stress of the contractions... The contraction passed, and it left Ione feeling as though she had no more strength to push or handle any more contractions. Opening her red swollen eyes, she looked at Mirtha hoping that she had not broken his hand during the contraction. Ione knew it'd only be a short time now, before another sharp contraction hit. She hoped only that the man would understand her next action as she withdrew her hand from his and held on to the blanket waiting for the next urge to push.... |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:07 PM Post #173 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Tue Sep 30, 2008 7:00 am Linnesse
Linnesse's eyes widened- though she tried not to show too much alarm- and she moved in protectively closer to the bed as Ione suddenly cried out in pain, arched her back, and squeezed Mirtha's hand hard. Sister Margaret, her lips pressing even thinner, if that were possible, moved towards the foot of the bed again and flipped the blanket back, revealing a crimson stain of blood on the white sheet, which actually grew as Linnesse watched. Linnesse's heart was in her mouth, her stomach sick with the realizaton that this must be it- the child lost. Nothing more they could do. Sister Margaret bustled for a moment, calling out to someone else for some water and towels, and a bare moment later they arrived; Linnesse took them at the door, shut it behind her, and passed the towels over to Sister Margaret, who began matter-of-factly, but sympathetically, to place them underneath Ione to soak up the blood. She glanced up at Ione's face, and her eyes settled with what looked like concern on Ione's hand, gripping the blanket tightly. "She has to try to relax...deep breaths," Sister Margaret instructed, catching Linnesse's eye and taking an illustrative deep breath, in and out, her hand hovering over her own chest, before returning to her towel-placing. "And some more of that tea," the nun indicated the mug, and Linnesse hastily brought it up to Ione's lips again, but over Ione's head, Linnesse could see the nun shake her head grimly, a small movement, but unmistakable. Linnesse got the message clearly, and it was as she had suspected. They could try, they could comfort Ione, but in all probabilty, this pregnancy was over. "Here, Ione- take a little more," Linnesse urged Ione in a small voice, reaching around under her shoulders to prop her up so she could drink again. She had to sit on the edge of the bed to do it, and lean over a bit awkwardly, but it was all right- though thinking about it, if Mirtha was going to sit there, perhaps he could earn his keep. "C...can you prop her up a little? Maybe?" she asked the stablemaster across the bed, her voice hesitant and a little wobbly. Linnesse was, in truth, still nervous talking to men she didn't know- at least men who weren't her patients. She felt vindicated, though, when Sister Margaret tossed a nod of agreement in Mirtha's direction. "Yes, help her, please," the nun instructed, taking a step backwards to look at her handiwork with the towels. For the first time, glancing down, Linnesse noticed that Ione's stomach had a visible, firm curve to it- one even a bit more pronounced that Linnette's as-yet-very-slight-one. But...Ione had only been "betrothed" to Javier for- what, a couple of months, at most? Surely she couldn't be farther along than Linnette was! Linnesse blinked in momentary confusion, but then set the matter aside. It looked like it woud scarcely matter now. "You can turn to your side, if that would be more comfortable, Ione- we'll help," Sister Margaret suggested from near the foot of the bed. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:08 PM Post #174 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Tue Sep 30, 2008 10:55 am Arthur As Arthur spoke of his decisions, the two men fell into old habits sitting comfortably in each other’s company – Lancelot’s posture open and at ease….and Arthur receptive and caring as if nothing painful had ever transpired between them. Until…..
“It is what I must do, Lancelot,” Arthur began to interject with his reasoning, but Lancelot continued….and Arthur knew it best to let the other man spout out all his antagonism before countering or Lancelot would never hear a word of it. Arthur’s back stiffened and he slightly elevated his chin in defense, yet confidence still shown soundly in those green, green eyes as he regarded Lancelot’s fiery single-eyed gaze. His injured side was certainly still a considerable weakness, but Arthur had a strong determination to do what he always had – give all of himself to protect those in his charge; fulfill his duty as the appointed Roman Commander of this remote outpost in the far reaches of the Roman Empire. No small battle wound would prevent him from his charge. Yet Arthur was vulnerable….completely exposed to the man who now sat with him on his bed. God would damn him for it, but Arthur could not forget the power and intensity of the bond he and Lancelot had always shared. His body still carried the scars of their joining both mentally and physically….a shiver tripped down Arthur’s spine as his mind flashed back on a particularly vivid memory of a hard rain, wet leather and sharp teeth….he bit at the insides of his mouth and forced the recollection away…..never again; and always.
Arthur slowly released his next breath; one hand smoothed carefully over the roundness of his kneecap as the Roman prepared his rebuttal. This was not about whom the Commander trusted at his side….not at all. Had Lancelot forgotten their most recent dealings with Merlin? And there it was…the signal Arthur had so patiently waited for…Lancelot’s good eye briefly slid shut and the other man appeared to quiet himself. It was typical of their arguments – Arthur standing silent yet firm while Lancelot vehemently tore into everything the Roman had planned…at least over duty and other ‘official’ matters.
What I wish for I can never have. I cannot give you your freedom and I cannot be what you need. “I will take Scipio so that he may learn how to negotiate with men such as Merlin. I will also have Tristan and Bors accompany us in our quest for peace,” Arthur began and without hesitation despite the possible ramifications, his hand returned to Lancelot’s bent knee. He also leaned closer to the other man to emphasize his point. “I will not have you at my side because I will not risk your life needlessly,” Arthur continued even as the memories of how he had nearly lost Lancelot to Merlin’s wrath twice in recent months flooded his mind. His fingers flexed over the other man’s knee in support of his words. “Must I remind you of the condition I found you in the last time you were a guest in Merlin’s camp? I need you here to watch over…..I am leaving the one I trust in command. Do you understand me?” Arthur asked pointedly and finally lifted his hand from Lancelot’s knee while leaning back against the pillows again. He had one other important request to make of Lancelot before climbing out of this bed and preparing for his ride today; one very discerning bit of news that Arthur truly had no idea how Lancelot would react. Darya was pregnant….and how am I to protect her? How can I ask this of Lancelot? Yet he is the only person I can speak to about this…impossible situation. Arthur was certain that Darya would turn to Lancelot in the event that the Commander failed to return. And Lancelot deserved to know. A hint of apprehension was no doubt visible in Arthur’s otherwise stoic expression. His gaze flickered to the flames in the hearth while both hands briefly tugged at the pale linen shirt he had slept in until finally settling in Arthur’s lap. He laced his fingers together and licked at the corner of his mouth before offering his confession. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:10 PM Post #175 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Tue Sep 30, 2008 6:02 pm Lancelot Lancelot's anger drained slowly away, his mood ever changing like the water that fell constantly from the sky here in this horrid land. Raining one moment, snowing the next. A bad omen, his people would say. Perhaps a bad omen as well that Lancelot could not hold onto his anger or his convictions when it came to the Roman that sat across from him - casually, as if nothing had been between them. Nothing. Everything. He sighed heavily and stared at Arthur's hand, which was once again on his knee. Licking his lips, the first knight raised his eyes and wished fervantly for the hundredth time he could see Arthur with two good orbs. Galahad would have to make time for a little chat later.
Thank the gods that Arthur finally lifted his hand from Lancelot's leg; the feeling of burning had come back, and the Sarmatian had had to fight to not fling himself bodily from the bed. He narrowed his eyes at Arthur's mention of what had happened with the Dark Magician before. He flexed his long, slender digits - one finger still crooked from where Ceinwyn had broken them. He'd taken her, too. What a way he had with relationships. "Fuck Merlin," he spat, sudden vitriol coloring his speech. He snorted and cocked the eyebrow over his wounded eye - it hurt like a bastard, but Lancelot found he enjoyed - welcomed - the sensation. It was a familiar one; one he used quite frequently to remind himself just what his life was for. "He is no more dangerous than Scipio is. That bird face could easily slide a knife between your ribs before Tristan could even but sniff his treachery. And Arthur," he added, his face taking on the reflection of the light that was beginning to finally creep fully through the window - although the glass was thick and distored and threw his features into more shadow than illumination. "Arthur. I went to Merlin willingly the last time. I knew what I was getting into - this is different." He shook his head, and cocked it, his neck sore already this morning. I am leaving the one I trust in command. Do you understand me? "Any one of your lackeys could watch over this pisshole of a fortress," he said, his tone sounding whiny even to his own ears. He rubbed at his thighs and shrugged his tight shoulders. "I am here to serve and follow you, as I failed to do so recently." He made a face - a fleeting rush of sorrow decorating and filling his eye - but he shrugged again. That pain would never end for him. "I seem to have no say. Besides - what is so important that you'd leave me here, in command of your beloved Badon, rather than have to put up with my company?" He shook his head again - gods, how many times would he do that? He arm suddenly throbbed, the hole the Woad archer had put into it painful and sharp. He ran fingers over his tunic covered bicep, feeling the bandage that hid the wound, and canted his gaze to Arthur's face. Something was obviously so important to the other man - important enough to leave his most loyal soldier and ... friend ... behind. Lancelot was suddenly more curious than angry. They'd been getting back to their comfortable closeness from - before, and he found himself trying to smile and desperately clutching at anything that would keep that burgeoning hope alive. He realized it might make him seem crazy - mood swings were his specialty, though - and he knew Arthur knew him. Arthur knew him, and trusted him, and wouldn't think badly of his fluctuating feelings. Maybe. Lancelot raised a hand and touched the lion pendant he was wearing under his tunic. "You have me intrigued," he said quietly. "Truly - is there something behind this?" Let go of the hurt - betrayal - and find out what's really going on. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:11 PM Post #176 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Tue Sep 30, 2008 6:05 pm Quintus "Centurion?" Quintus turned from his work at the sound of the voice at his door. He had been sitting on the edge of his bed, sideways to the door, polishing his breastplate with a soft cloth. He wasn't on duty at the moment- he had been for second watch that night, then grabbed sleep for the third watch, and was up now, seeing to his kit even though he wasn't required to be anywhere. The young soldier's expectant eyes, though, told Quintus even before the boy said anything more that something was going on- perhaps not an emergency, but something. Quintus could only hope it didn't involve any more escaped Woad prisoners- that had been a right fucking mess yesterday. "What is it?" Quintus asked, setting breastplate and cloth aside and rising to his feet, taking a step towards the boy. The lad pointed over his shoulder, behind him. "Captain Barbattus wants you in the wardroom, sir. Soon as you can." "I'll be right there, Livius." The Centurion took a look back at his breastplate, lying on the bed- but Livius hadn't said anything about armor or kit, just soon. With a barely perceptible shrug, Quintus shoved it a bit towards the middle of his narrow bed and followed Livius out of the room, as he was in simple pants, tunic, and boots, with his dagger at his waist. He'd get the rest if he needed it- and what was this all about, anyway? Well, he would soon find out. Quintus crossed the street from his century's barracks to the building that held the wardroom, nodding greetings to the men he passed. Once he was inside the room, however, his summoner, Captain Barbattus, was nowhere in sight- the only other inhabitant of the room was the new man, Brendyn, also looking like he was waiting for something- expectant and a bit nervous. "So how are you settling in, Brendyn? All right?" Quintus leaned his back against the wall not too far from the soldier, thick arms casually crossed in front of his body, and eyed Brendyn with a bit of a smirk. He was asking a loaded question, and he knew it- Brendyn, though only days into his service at Badon, had already managed to land himself latrine duties for unforgiveable rudeness to the head of the infirmary, the formidable Mother Lavinia. He hadn't wasted any time getting into trouble, that one- but Quintus was more amused than angered by the situation. Punishment was deserved, yes- but to hear the tale, Brendyn had gone off on the stern nun without having any idea what position of authority she was in- and Quintus, though he would never admit it, would have given a lot to have seen that and have had a laugh at the hapless soldier's expense. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:14 PM Post #177 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Tue Sep 30, 2008 9:47 pm Ione The weaver could feel the nun pull back the blanket, and prop her feet up, placing towels under her, and was aware of the concern of those tending to her....and it gave her some comfort to know they were there, but nothing seemed to prevent the pain from growing and giving her body the urge to expel whatever was causing it. Ione barred her teeth, and felt her body strain and push again feeling a bit of what felt like tearing a bit. Desperately, she grabbed the blanket and balled it tighter in her fist as a new pain joined the previous one. It caused Ione's body to strain more. The last time she had been in this much pain, she had been punished, and the only thought that had kept her fighting were thoughts of Lancelot, her closet friend among the knights. They had not always been, but it was not until they had talked things out, that Ione realized how lucky she was just to have him as a friend. Sweat ran down her straining body as she barred down again. In her mind, and for comfort, she heard Lancelot's words to her all over again. Words that had, and still did, mean so much. She had not talked to the knight in a long time, but Ione still felt a deep friendship had been built in that conversation. A conversation that contained advice she wished she would have taken to heart...The way he had knelt in front of her looking into her eyes...You have my attention and my admiration. Ione, you are a lovely woman…one of the loveliest I have ever seen, and you are different, do not doubt that...But never throw yourself cheaply at a man, not even a knight. You are too good for that, Ione. Don't do this as these men will hurt you. Why were you looking for a night with me so eagerly, hm? What is so special about a night that will give you nothing but tears and loneliness. You deserve to live a happy life and find a good husband…more than someone who warms your bed for a few hours. Tell me if I am wrong.... Ione wished, now, that she had told him that he had not been wrong, and that she should have taken his advice to heart. Espescially where Javier had been concerned. He had abandoned her after promising her all of the happiness in the world. Ione gasped for breath as another urge to push came upon her. She fought and struggled against the urge, but it won out...
Ione was so uncomfortable right now, and, even though Linnesse had propped her up a bit to have another drink, Ione reached out and refused it. The young woman had no more strength left to fight against the pushing and the pain that it brought...but her body refused to let her take even a moment of rest. Sister Maragret met Linnesse's gaze, then shot one to Mirtha hoping the ale smelling man would do as Linnesse requested. She, too had asked Mirtha to help them out by propping her up a bit, then had looked down at what was taking place. With all of the pushing Ione was doing, the nun watched for one specific shape to emerge...one that she was not looking forward to seeing. For a few moments there were no contractions, and Ione lie on her back, her feet propped up a bit, her chest showing signs of heavy breathing. Her long dark auburn hair was wet with sweat and had plastered itself to her face and clothes. The strain and stress began to show on Ione's young face, and she opened her eyes looking at those around her, then her eyes came to rest on Sister Margaret's as the nun spoke...
....Ione just lie there looking at the nun in a blank stare, willing to comply if she knew it'd do any good. Slowly, she began to roll over, but then stopped as a more defined pain sent her rolling onto her back again. This time she pushed, barring her teeth and using every availible source of strength she had left, and then the pain was gone. Ione lie back on the bed, trying to slow her breathing, her clothes wet with sweat. Sister Margaret looked up after Ione's last contraction, and shook her head slightly to Linnesse and Mirtha. Looking back down again at the blood that had gathered under Ione, the nun murmured a prayer to her God as she saw what looked like a very small form lying in the midst of it. She had seen a lot of wounds and blood in her time, and she had seen soldiers and men fight for their lives countless times, but nothing hit her so hard as seeing a still born child. Surely, Ione would want a Christian burial as well as give it a name for the records. The young weaver's body ached and there was no more strength left in her entire being. The sharp, agonizing pains were gone, but in it's place was an odd sense of loss. Her heart raced and her breathing was still heavy. Slowly, her hands released their grasp on the blanket, and Ione looked to the three who had stuck by her, 'a boy...Ian....a girl....Anne...' Ione had never felt so exhausted and achy...but there was something else deeper: a sense of loss and something that lent to the sadness she had felt before all of this began. Looking at the nun at the foot of her bed, Ione murmured, 'want to see my baby....hold it...' By the look on Sister Margret's face, Ione knew the baby had not made it, but her motherly instincts made her want to hold it close to her heart. The nun looked from Linesse to the stable hand, then back to the dead baby. Carefully picking it up, the Sister cleaned the blood from it's small body with a soft towel, wrapped it up in a clean dry baby blanket, and walked over to hand the baby to it's mother, lying it in the crook of Ione's arm. Tears and sobs broke from Ione with a mixture of feelings she had never experienced. It was a boy. Ione ran her fingers lightly over the delicately soft skin, looking at the strong healthy body. "I want...to name...him Ian....after...my father...'' She placed a soft kiss on the soft cheek, then looked up at Linnesse, 'Had con..sidered...you and...Derfel as Godparents....' She choked back a sob as she spoke. It was all so overwhelmingly emotional to know that after this brief moment in time, she'd never see baby Ian again. The thought alone drew out a heart breaking cry, her arms protectivly drawing the child closer to her as if to bring it back to life. Ione cried as though her heart was breaking, burying her face into the side of the blanket that held the last piece of joy she'd ever know.... Brendyn Brendyn walked about the room as though he had never been in one, though he had. He was filled with anticipation, and was eager to find out what the meeting was about. So far, his stay had been nothing to write home about..especially the punishment he had received while holding on to the belief that he had been right. The whole thing still bothered him, the way the nun had treated two prisoners as though they were innocents...even offering them a room with two guards. The way the chains had been removed from them...how the other guard (Lucius) had left his prisoner pretty much free to approach the other prisoner.....
Brendyn turned seeing the Centurion leaning against the wall not too far from where he stood. Brendyn saluted his superior, and then dropped his hand to rest on his ex Commander's sword, "I am setting in well enough. I am honored to be serving under Commander Castus..." He held Quintus's gaze as if thinking of how to place his first service that had landed him in Latrine duty. Ignoring the other man's smirk, the young soldier held his barring, ''Well, sir, I fear I did not do well in other's eyes, though I feel I acted in the right." God on High, but the whole thing bothered him! Even after he had discovered their escape route, the episode in the infirmary he was sure, had become an instant legend around the Roman troupes. Brendyn wondered if Quintus would even want to hear his side, but then, it was probably humorous to have a soldier punished for something he felt he had acted right in. He moved toward a table and ran his fingers over the surface and replayed the scene over in his mind, then he turned to Quintus and longed to tell the officer what had happened, but that he had not been given permission to speak further, so he kept the incident to himself. All Brendyn wanted to know, was had he felt the right instincts in that situation...the danger, the unease of having unchained prisoners placed in a private room with the door shut, or had he over reacted? Were his suspicions unfounded? He was only a lancarii, and did not have the same rank as Quintus, but he looked to the man for advice on the matter, or criticism. Brendyn decided to bring up the situation if Quintus asked him to relate what happened. There was a sort of uncomfortable pause, however, as Brendyn was not quite sure what to talk to Quintus about. Being a Centurion had been a dream of Brendyn's, but he liked being a lancarii, or lancer. Someday, he thought a slight promotion would be nice, but he had a lot to learn. He took another glance at Quintus, and walked to the window, his sword clanging lightly against the stone wall. Brendyn spoke in an almost thoughtful voice, ''At Aesica, I heard great things of Commander Castus and the men who serve under him. Some things I would hear almost sounded like legends. Commander Antonius spoke highly of him...." He turned his gaze to the Centurion who was still leaning against the wall. "It was my dream to serve him, and to be as good as the men who serve under him...But I fell short of that endeavour," Brendyn said. He was not proud of that fact, but his voice did not waver either. He was a Roman soldier, and would act like one. |
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