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| October 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 1 2010, 05:17 PM (3,201 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:17 PM Post #1 |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:17 PM Post #2 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Wed Oct 01, 2008 6:46 am Quintus
Quintus chuckled at that, his chin bowed to his chest and his eyes downcast, but glinting with amusement. The lad was so nervous...as in a way, he should be, but his nervousness was combined with an eager earnestness and a lingering confusion about the situation that made it downright funny. Very eager to please, this one- eager not to put a foot wrong, and clearly haunted by the one time he had, but not quite understanding it, either. Clearly in need of a little reassurance, too. Quintus straightened and pushed away from the wall, unfolding his arms and regarding Brendyn with a rueful, chiding smile. "Look, lad...that business with Lavinia- you made a mistake. You didn't realize her rank, and in a way, I can't blame you. It's not like she dresses it." Quintus allowed himself another laugh at that, trying to put the man more at his ease. Lavinia, of course, dressed as all nuns did- in a big black sack that hid any womanly charms that might be present. Not that Lavinia, Quintus was sure, had many. But she was a good infirmary head, and in Quintus's opinion, Badon was lucky to have her. He'd seen much worse in his day. "You didn't do right in talking to her like a drudge," Quintus emphasized that point with a sharp shake of his head, his expression hardening into sternness. The he quirked half a smile again, shrugging one large shoulder upwards. "But there's nothing for it but to take your punishment like a man and consider it a lesson learned. Now you know." And won't talk back to her again, I'd be willing to bet. "And don't worry about the other men, Brendyn- it'll be forgotten in a week, soon as something funnier comes along." Quintus's simle broadened a bit as he leaned back against the wall again, a relaxed, casual posture. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:18 PM Post #3 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Wed Oct 01, 2008 11:40 am Brendyn Brendyn had spoken what was on his heart, and it was something he truely believed in, so when Quintus chuckled seeingly amused, Brendyn cocked his head and gave the other man a serious look. It was not meant to be amusing at all. The soldier offered a brief smile, but it went back to the neutral look he wore when the man had entered the room. Damn it all! The situation had not been funny. Brendyn began to think of another way to approach the topic as Quintus pushed away from the wall he had leaned against. The smile on the Centurion's face was anything but comforting to Brendyn's mind...
What was the church coming to? Brendyn finally eased up a bit allowing himself a good hearty laugh along with the Centurion, but he was not willing to let the matter drop. Brendyn was of a good humor, but he felt that perhaps he could trust this man to share his side of the story with, and have him take it seriously. He had seen the smaller woad take on Malcus and Titrus, two well trained oman soldiers, and the thought of unchaining the two woads in the infirmary brought back that memory to mind. He moved over to the table and leaned against it, one leg crossed liesurly in front of the other, hands braced on the edge of the table behind him. He gathered his thoughts, then looked into the eyes of a man he wished had been his Commander at Aesica instead of Antonius. At least this one had a sense of humor. Brendyn kept the new found humor in his voice as he walked casually toward the table while he spoke, "Sir, the private rooms in the infirmary here...do they have windows in them? The reason why I ask has to do with something that did bother me a bit..." He cleared his throat not feeling nervous at all but baffled. "Why then, would a head nun order chains removed from prisoners, known to be dangerous, and have them placed in one of the private rooms, and shutting the door? Okay so there were two guards outside the room, but how are they to know what goes on inside the room with the doors shut and no one else in the room but the two woads? And I heard it tell that the guard they found dead outside the dungeon cell had been stabbed..." His eyes rose to earnestly meet Quintus's, the humor now replaced with confusion, the thought still there. "Now, how would a prisoner, a woad, get her hands on a knife, or have the knife in her possession with out our knowledge? I also heard one of the guards mention that the little woad had a doll in her possession that had not been there before, and that the woad had been very possessive of it...not letting it out of her grasp. Am I wrong about this?" Brendyn shifted a bit, but still looked at the man before him. This to him, could have been a disaterous scene, and he felt the nun had placed everyone in danger...he did not care what rank she was. "Amazing what you learn on the night watch, isn't it?" Now it was Brendyn's turn to smile, but the smile was slight and with no humor. He had not meant to come across as cheeky, thinking that he knew it all, but after finding the escape route they had taken and taking what had happened earlier in the day at the infirmary...well something was just not right. Just as Quintus had learned of the situation, so Brendyn had learned of the other parts from the two guards he had talked with briefly at the wall. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:24 PM Post #4 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Wed Oct 01, 2008 1:52 pm Arthur Arthur – revered Roman Commander and confident leader of men – hesitated to give voice to one simple fact. Why was it he was finding this so difficult to discuss with his closest friend? The news of having a child was a joyous thing, was it not? However, Lancelot gave Arthur a short reprieve by interjecting his thoughts on Merlin and Arthur’s decisions and the Roman welcomed them despite his lieutenant’s obvious continued irritation.
“This Optio would do no such thing,” Arthur cut in with complete – albeit foolish - certainty. Scipio might be many things privately to which Arthur truly knew nothing of, but he appeared to be every bit the ‘proper’ Roman officer and would not risk his own death by attempting to harm a superior officer. But….Arthur knew he should heed Lancelot’s instincts to a point….the Sarmatian’s views on all Romans were heavily skewed, but if Lancelot had a sense of something with Scipio…..
….serve and follow you, as I failed to do so recently. There was more than one interpretation of that particular statement. Arthur looked away from Lancelot’s angular features and penetrating gaze; looking anywhere than into the eyes – or rather eye - that seemed to confound the Roman’s emotions completely this morning. Always. One glance to the window told Arthur that morning had fully come and he had no more time for idle talk. His gaze dropped to his fingers where they were laced together in his lap and he sighed; face contorted in near frustration. And thus Arthur missed Lancelot’s fingers on the pendant the Sarmatian wore around his neck….it represented the one person in this world that Lancelot loved. Perhaps it was better that way.
Lancelot’s tone had changed again…this time Arthur heard compassion where only moments ago anger had clearly ruled. And Arthur knew he had to answer….he needed Lancelot’s counsel. But still unwilling to look the other man directly in the eye, Arthur slid his legs over the side of the bed and pressed bare feet to the cold stone floor. He stood and while rubbing a hand at the back of his neck, padded over to the chest containing his clean clothing. “There is a private matter in which I must request you to tend…for me,” Arthur began while he pulled open the top drawer and retrieved a plain shirt to be worn beneath his chainmail. He placed the folded shirt on top of the chest and pulled the linen shirt he’d worn to bed over his head. Neeve had meticulously bandaged Arthur’s stitched side and the material had held up through the night. But the bandage would need reinforced beneath Arthur’s clothing if it were to hold up to riding – and any other strenuous activities today. “Lancelot,” Arthur turned to look at his lieutenant as he called the other man’s name. His tone made it clear that he wished for Lancelot’s aid in dressing….at least in further wrapping his wound. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:25 PM Post #5 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Wed Oct 01, 2008 5:56 pm Lancelot Lancelot breathed heavily, the long, bent fingers of the once broken hand rubbing at his swollen eye. He tried to let his anger and - yes, hurt, ever still - at Arthur's decision (it was final, obviously; the other man hadn't even acknowledged Lancelot's reasons behind his objections) fade away as best he could for now. He'd known Arthur Castus for a long time - longer than anyone else other than his Sarmatian brothers, and in all theory, the Roman - Roman, how odd - had become his closest confidant, friend, ally and enemy all at once. Lover, too. That would have to be thought on at a later time - perhaps it might be good that Arthur was leaving the fortress without Lancelot for a bit. That absence, however short, would give Lancelot time to fucking think and ponder exactly what it was that had made him begin to ... consider? Weigh options? Decide whether or not he could only love one person - his little sister - for the rest of his life and be satisfied with that?
Arthur's back was to Lancelot as the other man had padded barefoot to his clothing storage, but he canted his gaze once as he called Lancelot's name, obviously wanting help. The knight's eyebrow cocked again; he winced from the pain, but did it again, just to aggravate himself and to make sure he could still perform the gesture to his satisfaction. It was scathing and extremely useful when he did it right. Gods forfend if Galahad had damaged one of his most dangerous weapons beyond use. Arthur had removed his nightshirt and had pulled a tunic from his chest of drawers; Lancelot got off the bed creakily and with great effort, managed to cross the room without fainting from exhaustion or tripping over his own feet. He had too much to do and too little time to do it in while Arthur was gone. So be it. Lancelot would take advantage of the absence if the commander wouldn't allow him to come along - no matter what this - "Private matter?" he asked, his hands reaching for the small dagger in his boot sheath. Using it to quickly and effectively cut through the bandage Neeve had wrapped around the Roman's waist, he removed the old cloth and examined the freshly stiched slash in Arthur's side. ….serve and follow you, as I failed to do so recently. "The swelling has gone down," he commented, and, picking up the some of the soft linen swabs and dipping them into the salve the Briton healer had left behind, he began to clean the wound with fresh medicene. Better to have it as clean as possible before he covered it up again. "Take note, as I said," his voice was soft and distracted as he paid attention to what he was doing, his good eye focusing on the angry injury on his friend's side. "I am no healer, but I will do my best." He settled his free hand on Arthur's other side to steady himself as he worked, cleaning first and then reaching around the other man's half-dressed body for the gauze that would go under the linen strips. Private matter? Arthur has no private matters. "Do go on," he spoke, his voice muffled from the wad of cloth he held between his teeth as his arms reached around Arthur to begin the bandaging process. If I can do but this for him - perhaps he can learn to forgive my absence in the last battle. Perhaps I can forgive... |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:27 PM Post #6 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Wed Oct 01, 2008 7:08 pm Quintus
“Aye.” Quintus had to agree to that, and he laughed briefly again, acknowledging the lightning speed with which information of all types, both true and not so true, moved within the squads of soldiers who were posted at the fort. Brendyn did seem to have heard a very complete and correct version of the story, though- nothing he had said was wrong. Quintus’s smile fell and he shifted himself against the wall, gathering his thoughts before going on again. The soldier was taking this seriously, and he no longer seemed amused. Quintus had to admit that in terms of the infirmary, the man might have a point- though that still didn’t excuse his behavior. “Well, I’ll be straight with you, Brendyn- no one knows exactly how the little Woad got out.” Quintus made that admission with a regretful shrug, but went on matter-of-factly. He was in a mood and a position to be perfectly honest with Brendyn right now- though the soldier couldn’t expect this kind of extended explanation every time. “One thing certain is that she had help- so she may not have stabbed the guard at all. No way to know,” Quintus continued grimly. It was a bad situation, all around- and he could only hope that the walling up of the little gate that he had supervised last night had done a lot of good towards preventing future incidents. There was still one more Woad prisoner down there- the bigger one, brought back my Captain Barbattus after yesterday’s abortive attempt at negotiations. “About the infirmary, though…you might be right. I’ll let an officer know what you just told me as soon as I can.” Quintus had to admit he didn’t know anything about the specific arrangements for prisoners in the infirmary, but it was possible that they weren’t ideal. Badon- by Arthur Castus’s policy- didn’t hold too many prisoners, so the question rarely came up. It might have been that the nuns simply didn’t realize how dangerous Woad women could be. Quintus didn’t know- but he could pass on Brendyn’s concerns. “But that doesn’t excuse you mouthing off to the head of the infirmary- especially not with your superiors present.” Quintus frowned deeply at Brendyn as he delivered that reprimand. Valid concerns or not, Brendyn should have known better to speak out of turn like that. A quiet word to the Lieutenant who had been there would have been better, had he really seen some problem that no one else was noticing. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:28 PM Post #7 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Wed Oct 01, 2008 8:23 pm Brendyn Now, Brendyn seemed to be more at ease with the Centurion, but not too comfortable. He learned long ago to respect those in authority above him. He decided that he liked Quintus, and knew that this was a man he could learn a thing or two from...like how to avoid trouble of that nature again, and handle things more tactfully. So he listened to every word of what Quintus's response was...
Brendyn had to admit that he had shown the nun a certain amount of disrespect, and that could have been why he gained none in return. Brendyn took Quintus's repremand to heart. ''I admit, sir, that I did act out of place where Sister Lavina was concerned, and I feel that that justified my punishment." He arose from where he had leaned against the table, and approached the other man, "I thank you in advance for bringing my concerns before another officer....and I thank you for your advice as well as your opinions...." He looked once again about the room, wishing that it had been Arthur and not Antonius who had trained him. Commander Antonius had been a good trainer of battle skills and such, but there was no such a thing in his book as far as mistakes, and anything a trainee did that he did not deem "first rate", that soldier was subject to ridicule, or punished in some way. For Brendyn, it meant going without food for a certain length of time, or five good lashings...or having to train harder than the rest, and without water. Granted Antonius had been a good Commander and person in other respects, whether it was just to talk to, or ask an opinion of. These experiences were ones that Brendyn never forgot, even now as he talked to the Centurion... "There are some things that I still need to learn, sir, and I would like to learn from you. For instance, I am better at using a lance and a spear, then I am at using a sword..." There was a long pause. Brendyn was the first to admit that he was far from perfect, and yesterday's actions had showed that to be a fact. Briefly, his thoughts went back to Veronica, Antonius's wife and Brendyn's lover. She had always believed in him when others hadn't. GOD! How he missed her! To this day, he often wondered where she was, and if she was safe...or if she was still thinking of him as much as he was her. Deep inside, he said a silent prayer for guidance and wisdom concerning whatever this summons had been about. "Do you know why we have been summoned here?" He looked at the other man with a curious glance... |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:29 PM Post #8 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Thu Oct 02, 2008 12:44 am Cáel "Nyah..num...toadstools and honey..." Cáel murmured half-consciously and abruptly sat bolt upright, his hay-infested dark locks falling about his features in vicious disarray. He reached out blindly with calloused hands and ended up tapping palms up against an unfamiliar surface. His brow furrowed but his eyes remained closed, slurring incoherently then as he slumped frontward alongside the apparent barricade. His pale cheek pressed up against the stall and he slapped a hand against it, his features screwing up at the unpleasant sound that ricocheted off of it in response. "Mmm...didn't do it...open...damn...cell..." he grumbled. Something kept swatting him in the face, a kind of ticklish feather or hair. He winced and swat back at the annoyance, but it persisted. He moved away, crawling along a prickly, uneven surface; finally drawing himself up onto his knees, Cáel wavered unsteadily as he attempted to peel back his heavy eyelids. Now something was touching his face again, but it was not soft. It was a pronounced shape and wet, like lips of sorts. The Goth's brow gave a pleasant lift and he nuzzled back willingly in response. Suddenly, his black eyes snapped open and focused upon his intended - his goddamn horse! Cáel whimpered, aghast, sputtering and spitting as he scrambled to his feet and spiraled backed into a corner of the stall all in one sober movement. "Lord...I will never drink again..." Cáel swore, smacking away the stale taste rimming his lips. He doubled over, head between his knees, and groaned outwardly at the headache that now ailed him ten-fold. It was going to be a hell of a morning. Cassidy & Fleur It was more an unconscious effort than anything that Fleur was resistant to release her hold on Drake. Sure he had been around in the past couple of days, but he hadn't specifically been around her. For a child like Fleur, two days seemed a millennium, and there was nothing she wasn't willing to try or do in order to keep him from leaving until she got everything off her chest. And, the girl had alot to say to the soldier this particular morning. She was desperate to garnish his attention, even if the conversation was served up one-sidedly. She continued to babble as he carried her in his arms back to Cassidy, tiny fingers idly stroking flat the hairs at the back of his neck. Fleur was unaware it was time to be quiet and chirped cheerfully away until the soldier pressed a finger to her lips. And, even then she initially tried to speak through the silencing digit. She gave up at last, only because her nose was stuffy and she needed to push an exasperated breath from out her mouth. "Fleur...do you need to go to the latrine...?" Cassidy asked her quietly, in speculation of the way her little sister was squeezing her knees together and wriggling upon the bed. "Uh-uh," Fleur replied, with a shake of her head. "Fleur..." Cassidy began again. "Drake will leave!" the younger girl pouted, giving her sister a suffering look. "I gots lots more to tell him!" "Well..." good. "I guess you better hurry up then..." the twelve year old managed in forced politeness, gesturing with a jut of her chin for Fleur to go. Fleur gasped and turned from Drake, bounding off of the bed and rushing toward her destination. Cassidy shook her head to herself, trying with every fiber of her being to suppress her amusement. She glanced at the soldier with an aura of indifference when he addressed her. "One of Fleur's many...attachments..." Cassidy answered, giving Drake a pointed stare. She gave a nonchalant shrug of her shoulder and looked away again. "He's coming back today...promised to let her ride his horse or something..." |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:31 PM Post #9 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Thu Oct 02, 2008 3:09 am Saoirse
Saoirse's face contorted into anguish when her lover closed his eyes and said he would sleep while she was gone, then informing her that he had had a rough night. She knew he had not slept all too well - she had felt almost every uncomfortable breath he had taken - but to hear him admit to it was very unlike him and it spoke of a painful reality. A strand of red hair fell forward, covering half her vision as she looked at the man's neck, at the sure and steady press of vein against his skin showing her clearly his pulse. It was a comfort to see it so strong, to know that, despite his current state of weakness, there was that old familiar strength just waiting to be released. He would be made better eventually.. She was about to step away when his eye cracked open and he mentioned food. This brought a smile to the Irish-woman's face. She snickered gently and nodded, leaning down to kiss his cheek. "I bet ye do." she murmured against his skin, smacked a kiss against his cheek and walked away, her footsteps lighter than they might have been just one minute ago if he had not asked for food. An appetite, she had read only yesterday morning in one of those dusty old books, was a sure sign of a healing body. Well he would be fed and fed well then... Perhaps, as part of her duties in becoming a healer, she should bring the makings of a broth back with her for the rest of those cooped up in the infirmary...? Saoirse glanced over her shoulder at Dagonet before she left to see him with his head lolled to one side and a restful look about him though she wasn't entirely sure that she just wanted to see him looking restful... Walking out into the fresh air made the woman's stomach rock. It was only out here in the brisk morning breeze that she realised how sickly she had found the air inside. Her head swam and for a moment she stood on the steps letting her mind catch up with her body. Once stable she narrowed her blue eyes against the spitting, sleety rain and walked across the main courtyard towards the fortress. She was not going to go to Dagonet without some fresh clothes for him or her... A few minutes later she was striding back across the courtyard, this time towards the tavern, purposely, with a small sack of clothes slung over her shoulder. She walked into the tavern and took a deep breath of the familiar scent that wafted throughout the place. It seemed a lifetime since she had been here last. The red head approached the bar and pursed her lips wondering what would be suitable for her healing Knight, not wanting to give him an upset stomach but not wanting him living on an invalid's diet either. Galahad It was alot harder to get from A to B than Galahad would have creditted. He was hardly a complete invalid but he found when he got halfway across the courtyard that he was miserably tired and even more miserably hungry. He stopped once or twice just to stretch his battered body, finding it impossible to stop himself from feeling sorry for himself. Granted he had started the fight, and granted he had accidentally given black eyes to his buddies, but he was still entitled to feel the way he felt... surely. He had been betrayed in a most bitter and conniving way. He couldn't help but wonder if it was all that he had seen or was there more... ? Was it just a budding relationship or was it spontaneous...? Did that old sour Knight evoke a passion in Alina that he, Galahad, could not? Was it permanent? Was that it between them now? Galahad didn't know -- and he didn't know if he should bother his time thinking on it either because he wasn't sure if he could take Alina back. Even if she wanted to. She did want to come back to him, didn't she? The man's worried blue eyes looked skywards as it started to spit rain on him. He shivered and hurried his laboured steps a little more, ducking into the fortress with a loud, teeth-chattering shudder. Gingerly lifting a bruised hand, Galahad brushed the droplets off his shoulders as he made his way towards his room. He resolved to keep his head down in case he spotted anyone that he didn't want to talk to... like Gawain... or Alina... or Kolya... or anyone. When he got to his room he shrugged out of the cloak and looked sullenly at the cold hearth. "Damn.." he muttered, wiping a hand down his young face, wincing as he brushed a bruise. Tugging off his boots, Galahad pattered barefoot out into the corridor and deftly pinched some of the logs reserved for the kitchen fires that were left at the bottom of the steps. He took a torch from a wall and lit himself a little fire. The orange flames lit up his young face which was now haggard. Blue eyes were shadowed as he stared into the flames thinking to make sense of stuff and wondering if putting his head in the flames might alleviate the crippling hangover that was looming in the back of his addled brain. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:33 PM Post #10 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Thu Oct 02, 2008 11:42 am Arthur The moment Arthur spoke the other man’s name he realized what requesting Lancelot’s ‘help’ would entail…physical contact from the one person that Arthur could not show indifference to no matter how hard he attempted it. But the Commander could not re-dress his bandage alone and Lancelot was one of the few persons that Arthur would allow to see his weaknesses. And the dark knight was the only person present. Arthur lifted his arm, resting it behind his head to give the other man access and silently prayed Lancelot would make quick work of it.
“Yes,” Arthur quietly answered as Lancelot cut away the existing bandage and examined the Roman’s stitches. Arthur opened his mouth to continue, but halted in delivering the news on Darya’s condition. Instead, he frowned at the heady scent that filled his nostrils with Lancelot now in such close proximity. Why hadn’t he noted how pungent the other man smelled when they had sat together on the bed? Hadn’t Arthur practically ordered Lancelot to bathe last night?
Arthur mildly hissed through his teeth the instant Lancelot’s fingers pressed a cloth to his side despite the obvious gentleness of the other man’s ministrations. Goose bumps decorated his exposed skin from the chill still lingering in the room…most assuredly not in reaction to Lancelot’s touch – or so Arthur attempted to convince himself. And of course Arthur could not ignore the hand that now rested on his other hip – one that had gripped him there many times in both anger and in passion. Without pain, love could not exist….and that was at the root of the tumultuous bond Arthur and Lancelot had always shared. The Roman breathed heavily through his nose and attempted to relax the muscles in his suddenly very taut neck while Lancelot continued to tend him – without argument.
“Have you forgotten the location of the baths in this fortress?” Arthur mildly chided the other man first and while lifting both arms up and out of Lancelot’s way. He half grinned at the mention of the baths though; again recalling things between him and Lancelot that he should not think on. Not anymore. I have made my choice. And it was that choice that forced Arthur to go on with what he must ask of Lancelot now. “I want you to keep a close watch on Darya in my absence, keep her safe,” Arthur began; knowing how odd that must sound considering what he had accused them both of doing together behind his back in recent times….and in truth, Arthur was still confident he’d been right about it even though Darya had denied it. “She is with child and I must be reassured that she will be well provided for….in the event that I should not return. I trust you to do this for me, Lancelot,” Arthur finished; the muscles in his abdomen tightening on their own accord as he awaited Lancelot’s answer. The Commander had already requested Neeve’s assistance in the matter, but it was Lancelot’s help that Arthur wished to secure before riding out today. It was Lancelot that could best protect his fellow Sarmatian while Arthur was away…and it would be Lancelot that he was certain Darya would turn to in any event. |
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| golden_trillium | May 1 2010, 05:37 PM Post #11 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Thu Oct 02, 2008 12:13 pm Linnesse
“Oh, Ione…” Linnesse murmured in sympathy, blinking back the mist that clouded her vision, obscuring the sight of Ione and the tiny, sad little bundle that she held. Sister Margaret was still busy on the other side of the bed, adjusting fresh towels and discreetly removing the bloodstained ones to a bundle in the corner of the room. Linnesse felt her fingers curved around some hard object, and looking down, discovered that she was still holding the cup of black haw tea- now useless and cooling. She reached out to set it down on the bedside table; her arm shook slightly as she did so, and it seemed to take an effort to straighten her fingers. The clink as she set the cup down seemed unbearably loud, a disturbance in the room even over Ione’s sobs. “You were very brave,” she whispered, reaching over to lightly rub Ione’s back with her hand. The other woman’s body was shaking with her sobs, the tiny form of her child barely visible- but looking over her shoulder, Linnesse could see the curve of its- his?- head, pale and almost translucent-looking, smaller even than Linnesse’s fist. The whole body had been scarcely longer than her hand, the limp limbs like fragile twigs, the eyes tightly closed. He hadn’t moved at all. Across the room, Sister Margaret finished her tidying and came over to sit down at the foot of the bed. She settled herself at the corner of it, her eyes on Ione and the child, and matter-of-factly crossed herself and began to pray aloud, with no preamble or announcement- but as soon as Linnesse realized what she was doing, she hastily crossed herself too and bowed her head, though she kept her other arm around Ione’s shoulders. “Lord, who gives all of us life, we pray that you will accept this innocent soul into your kingdom, and that you will comfort his mother in her sorrow…” There were a few more words after that, but Linnesse barely heard them; her own heart was too full of sorrow. What if this happened to Linnette? What if her only remembrance of Gedeon ended up that way, thrust from the womb before his time, limp and pale and tiny in her sister’s arms? Could Linnette even survive something like that? The shift of the bed as Sister Margaret stood up made Linnesse look up, and she realized that the nun had finished praying and was speaking now to Ione. Linnesse murmured “amen” in a barely audible voice, concluding her own small communion with the divine- such as it was. Why did God allow things like this to happen, anyway? “Are you the father?” Sister Margaret was saying to Mirtha, with all the straightforward unsurprise of a woman who was used to assisting at the births of children of unknown or uncertain paternity. There were many of them, in a place like this. The nun sounded like she would not have blinked no matter what Mirtha or Ione had said to her inquiry. “Or is there someone else we should notify?” She looked from Mirtha to Ione inquiringly. Quintus
“No.” Quintus shook his head, having no further answer for that question. There had been no hint of the purpose of the summons in the word of Livius, but if Quintus had to guess, he would bet that this had something further to do with the various Woad debacles of yesterday. The escape, the one remaining prisoner, the failed negotiations with Merlin- none of those matters were over and done with. The Woads were not over and done with- they’d be back, and probably with a vengeance. “Maybe they want you to practice that swordplay against the Woads,” Quintus said with a grim chuckle, looking at Brendyn out of the corner of his eye as he made the small black joke. Maybe- but then again, if more battles looked in the offing, the whole fort would have been put on the alert, and it hadn’t. “More likely the Captain just has some more questions about the escape,” Quintus continued, coming to that conclusion as he said the words. He and Brendyn had both been involved in discovering it, after all. Yes, that was probably it; Quintus only hoped they weren’t in for too much of a tongue lashing. The Captain didn’t suffer fools gladly, and yesterday had been a day for fools, that was for sure- though Quintus was reasonably confident that he himself and Brendyn were not among them. The damned guards who had been at the front doors of the dungeons, yes, but those bastards were already mucking out the stables on reduced rations and would be for weeks. Tristan The scout once again raised his eyes from feeding the hawk one of the last pieces of meat as the door of the tavern opened again. It was quiet in here- Linnette and Vanora chatting softly at the bar, and a few other people working on their breakfasts, but no one rowdy or loud. It was a subdued morning- subdued enough that the entrance of one red-headed woman was enough to clearly catch his attention. Saoirse was moving with great purpose, a sack of something slung over her shoulder, almost as if she was going somewhere. She paused in the doorway as she entered, taking a deep breath, almost as if she was relieved to be here, and then continued on to the counter and the two women who stood behind it. Behind her, Tristan popped the last piece of meat into the hawk’s mouth and then stood slowly, his eyes still on the newcomer. The bird gulped down the meat, then squawked as Tristan lifted her onto his shoulder- but he shushed her and kept a hand on her until she got her balance properly, then continued on across the tavern floor until he stood just behind and to the side of Saoirse. “How’s Dag?” he inquired gruffly, looking down at her with a slight frown as he leaned his side against the bar counter and folded his arms. |
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| golden_trillium | May 2 2010, 03:13 PM Post #12 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Thu Oct 02, 2008 2:34 pm Vanora The Red head had thought that it was a good idea, even though books were only written for the more important people in authority. To Vanora, everyone was just as important as the other. Well, she watched Linnette, as the young woman turned her back to the counter and leaned on it, arms folded in front of her. Not really being able to see the woman's reaction, Vanora stood up, reached for the towel, and folded it with a silent sigh...
Vanora sort of winced at Linnette's reaction which was as she somehow knew it would be: Bitter and with some tears. They were to be expected. She would have reaced the same way. Vanora looked down at the folded towel wishing that she was going through the same thing Linnette was going through. The only thing that had come remotely close was the death of her father. "No, sorry....I don't...It was an odd idea," Vanora pressed her lips together wishing that she had not mentioned it. Stupid idea anyway. "Linnette, when my father died, I was very young and because he was always fighting, I never really got to know him..." She paused as if hoping that what she was saying would be of some help, outside of that, could think of nothing else to suggest. "My mother, and other family members told me stories of him...those stories helped me to "see" my father even though I had never really known him. No, it is not the same as having a loved one here, but all of the memories you have kept of your time with Gedeon can be told...." Vanora stopped realizing that she was just babbling, but it was a good idea and better than the one she had suggested before. Every family had it's own way of preserving memories. She was about to get back to her work when she caught the sight of Saoirse approaching the counter. It had been so long since Vanora had seen her, and smiled, though she had not forgotten the other conversation with Linnette. In that one, she wanted to gather her thoughts. What would Linnette suggest if Bors had died and she were feeling she Linnette did now? Surely there had to be an artist among the Romans stationed here, and one tha'd do a decent job. Vanora made a mental point to ask around... "Good Morning, Saoirse. It has been a long time," Vanora greeted warmly. "How is Dagonet fairing?" She cast a glance at Linnette, then back to the other red head. About that time, Tristan, with the injured hawk on his shoulder, had got up from where he had sat quietly. Vanora eyed the injured bird as Tristan spoke....
Vanora raised an eyebrow. That was a good question, not because he was injured, but he, like Linnesse had lost Gedeon. Perhaps Dag had some advice for Linnette. Bors was always telling the children stories of their grandparents whom they'd never know, but that instilled those memories in their minds, and Bors had told vanora that it was his tribes way of preserving memories for the next generation..... Brendyn At Quintus's negative response, Brendyn raised an eye brow wondering what was going on. He had been summoned here after a night on the wall, and at first Brendyn thought that perhaps one of his superiors had wanted to talk to him, but then Quintus had come in, and somehow, this Centurion had begun to make Brendyn feel a bit more at ease...though he was not sure how "at ease" he should feel. Antonius rarely liked his men to get into a casual attitude, and when he did, it was only to eat, have drink, and chat....then it was back to training...
Brendyn laughed at this, and returned the other man's gaze, "I enjoy battle, and it is a good place to hone one's skills... " He stopped and then remebered that he had saved the Centurion's life at the battle on the other side of the wall. Brendyn had been proud of the fact that he was now able to talk to Quintus and get to know how the man though....
The escape. Brendyn nodded, considering himself lucky that Quintus had come along when he had, that way they had both seen the same thing. But the fact remained that he had left his punishment in the latrines to help in seeking out the escaped woad. He had run about the fort smelling like a pig in a sty searching earnestly for the woads that had even outfoxed the trained Romans. After a long search, he had found the gate through which they had escaped, and a surge of pride had coursed through his body as he reported to the Centurion what he had found. The compliment Quintus had tossed to him had made him feel good as well: it had made him feel that he had done a job well. "I cannot think of any other reason why we'd be here. If we are here for a mission, then I can only hope that I make the Captain proud," Brendyn smiled warmly at the other man. He had never had time to make true friends: ones that he could go out to the tavern for drinks, talk, girl watch, and perhaps he had made a friend like that in Quintus. "Maybe, when the reason we are here is over, we can go to the tavern and share some drinks, and talk. My treat," Brendyn smiled. A glint of mirth shone in his eyes as he chuckled, "And to be honest, I was a bit nervous when I got here...." Brendyn's eyes moved over to a bowl of fruit that had been left on a table in the corner. He was starving and the fruit looked tempting. He stifled another yawn, and his stomach rumbled. |
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| golden_trillium | May 2 2010, 03:15 PM Post #13 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Thu Oct 02, 2008 6:35 pm Linnette
"I know, I know," Linnette exclaimed irritably, more tears gathering in her eyes, tears of frustration now rather than pure sadness. Stories, stories...almost all Gedeon himself had had of his father had been stories! Stories seemed all very well when they were all one had, and they were certainly better than nothing, but the thought that she could tell her future child stories about Gedeon was a cold comfort. Stories were a pale attempt at an imitation of the real thing. Stories weren't a father. Linnette sniffed and half-turned from Vanora, facing sideways to her and ducking her head, her good hand over her face in a probably-futile attempt to get her emotions under control before she had to look at Vanora again. Fortunately, though, she was spared the need to continue that conversation in its current form by the arrival off someone at the counter. She only half-saw the approaching shape out of the corner of her eye, but Vanora's greeting told her who it was.
Linnette lowered her hand and raised her head, sniffing and regarding Saoirse with teary eyes. Despite the awkwardness she had felt around the other woman last night, when she had gone to see Dagonet in the infirmary, she was glad to see her now- because of her good timing and also, perhaps, because she could give news of Dagonet. And Linnette and Vanora weren't the only ones to have that idea- Tristan was hovering around beside Saoirse, too, apparently awaiting the answer to that same question. Not wanting to contribute to the mobbing of the poor woman, Linnette hung back a little, a couple of feet down the counter- but she was clearly listening in on what Saoirse would say. Quintus
"Who isn't, lad- who isn't?" Quintus reassured the younger man again, once more leaning against the wall and letting out a breath, his eyes fixed on the upper part of the room's good-sized window, where morning light now streamed in. Brendyn, the Centurion noted, was eying the fruit on the table, and also yawning, but Quintus was confident now that he would snap to as soon as Captain Barbattus entered the room. Whenever he entered the room. Quintus didn't show it, but inside he was beginning to get a little impatient of the wait. Officers had the right to take their time, of course, but he had been doing useful work himself when he had been called here- if he had only been able to stay a few more moments instead of spending those moments here, he could have gotten that breastplate all polished and oiled by now, which meant he wouldn't have to do it later. The Centurion shifted his weight more towards the other leg, uncrossing and recrossing his arms, and kept his eyes on the window, and on the triangle of sunlight slowly growing on the floor. |
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| golden_trillium | May 2 2010, 03:18 PM Post #14 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Thu Oct 02, 2008 9:20 pm Ione So delicate. So small. A life cut short. Ione's body shook uncontrollably from sobs as she held he very small body of her child. A child that would never know the feel of soft grass under his feet, the sunlight warm on his face....the wind...snow....the adventures that life would set before him, Ian would never know these things. She refused to look at her friends, even as Linnesse reacted to what she had said...
The world had suddenly disappeared, and it was just she and her baby. Ione could feel the nun still exchanging towels underneath her, heard the mug that Linnesse had held clink againt the surface of the table next to the bed, even see Mirtha still sitting by her bed, but all of her attention was on the very tiny bundle in her arms lying there as though it was asleep. The only thing that gave her comfort right now was the gentle understanding feel of Linnesse rubbing her back as she spoke, and Ione looked up into the gentle face...
The words wrung more sobs from Ione, 'Ian was brave in his struggle to live. He was so small and yet had faced death braver than any warrior...' It was how she viewed her son. Ione tried to imagine what he would have looked like when he grew up: A tall, handsome man with a lion's heart and a dove's compassion. Something like her father whom she had loved. The weaver knew that she'd soon have to give Ian to the nun so that he could be buried. Gods she did not want to give him up, but Ione had to face it that he would be leaving her side. She took her eyes from the child for a moment to look up into Linnesse's own eyes trying to show how grateful she was that the healer had been close, but then Sister Margret moved to sit by her bedside and crossed herself...beginning to pray. Damn their God for taking Ian from her! She returned her gaze to the small body, and held it protectively close, the heart wrenching sobs refusing to quit. What else could happen to her? It seemed as though everything she had loved and held dear in her life had gone, vanished as though it had never existed. Ione buried her face into the blanket that held her son. He was so very small. She could hear, now, Linnese's voice in prayer as well, but with one, soothing arm about Ione's shoulders. The words of the prayer seemed distant to Ione, but just to know that Linnesse, Mirtha and Sister Margret were close...
Comfort? It seemed that there was no place for comfort in her soul right now. Ione's body ached as did her heart. She had felt, at one time, that her future was going to be bright and happy: A handsome man like Javier and a child. But Her dreams had begun to fade as Javier had ridden off...Accolan, a man who had risked everything to save her life, dead...Thorn, dead. She placed a soft kiss on the small bundle's face, saying, 'You'll never feel the sun on your face..the adventure of what life throws your way...you'll never dream, know the joys of love...wind...the smells of the earth after a storm...but I...' Ione murmured softly into the small ear as if implanting these into the tiny mind to store. 'I want you to know how very much you are loved, my son...I can't give you up, my little Ian...' The soliloquy was broken as Sister Margret spoke to Mirtha, then to her....
Ione brought her eyes up to stare at the woman, then to Mirtha, and back. In the midst of her mourning, this nun wanted to know who the father was? She had no family left, except Adian, who was working as a carpenter here at the fort. 'Adian...he is a life long friend who came here to the fort to work...he use to work...for my father on the farm...' Ione looked back down at her child savoring what little time she had left with him. The nun would try to take him from her soon, and Ione thought selfishly that she would fight for more time...but she wanted Ian to have a good burial instead of being thrown in a cold ground and unceremoniously covered with dirt. Her dear father, Ian, had been a Christian and would have wanted this for the child. 'Want him to be buried in a Christian burial...as my father was a Christan and because I loved my father...promise me that he'll have a head stone so I can find the place...." Her eyes, swollen from crying, looked at those in the room, before returning to her child, her sobs arising again. Helplessly, she looked at Linnese, 'I can't..' she said weakly. 'I can't..give him up... oh gods I can't...' She could not stop the sobs. Turning to the nun, Ione pleaded, 'Please...do not take him from me...please...' It was all so emotional, and right now it felt as though the happiness had fled from her life. Brendyn
Brendyn nodded in agreement. Which soldier or officer was not scared or nervous sometimes....especially before a mission or battle knowing that you might never return. One of the reasons he had broken it off with Tatiana so soon. She was a good kid and deserved a normal life with a man who was not dedicated to battle. His eyes followed Quintus's up to a large window at one end of the room, and marveled at how the beams of light shining through it. "I suppose some men have the art down of hiding their nervousness better than others...At Aesica, I would relieve stress by working out with a whip and a bag of straw...or I'd put Tyranus through some paces as far as battle manuvers..." After Brendyn spoke, he grew silent, and seemed to take in the width and breadth of the room. He had always appreciated architecture, and the forts he had been in had some nice structures within them. Others would have called them plain, but to Brendyn, there were always small details that lent a certain "authoritative" feel to it. The way the windows in this room were placed, He felt like he was in a cathedral. The soldier placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, as he walked a bit away from the other man, and over to where it seemed the beams were falling to the floor. The glass had slight designs in it which caught the rays of light in different patterns. Slowly, he drew his sword and left the light beams shine off the highly polished surface, looking at how the light sparkled and danced on the blade. It had been Antonius's sword. Bringing it up so that the flat of the blade was vertical in front of his face, Brendyn recalled the day the Commander had given it to him...the day Antonius had died at the hands of the Saxons. He lowered it slowly, turning it so that the point rested on the floor of the room... "Sir, have you heard how Commander Castus is fairing? The last I saw, he had severe wounds...as did some of his knights...though Lancelot seemed to have none..." He turned still standing in the light, to face the man leaning against the wall. Brendyn left out a heavy sigh, and was beginning to wonder if anyone was going to show up and tell them why he and Quintus had been called to this special room... |
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| golden_trillium | May 2 2010, 03:20 PM Post #15 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Fri Oct 03, 2008 6:17 am Karl Karl mumbled to himself as he made his way toward the squad room. The Roman was in a foul mood this morning, which was not unusual for him. His head roared in the aftermath of too much drinking the night before. He belched loudly as he approached the squad room's closed door. He heard voices inside, recognizing Quintus' distinctive drone. Karl rolled his eyes. When the page had summoned him to report for special orders, Karl hadn't been pleased. What the hell was going on anyway? What mission? Why couldn't the dogs ride out and take care of whatever was going on? As he pondered these questions, Karl walked inside the room and took a quick inventory. Quintus, Titrus and ... what was the new guy's name? Karl couldn't remember and didn't really care. Without so much as a word, he plopped down on a seat and stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles. He folded his arms over his chest and waited, like the rest of them, to find out what was going on. |
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