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| December 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 28 2010, 01:27 PM (2,118 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:27 PM Post #1 |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:27 PM Post #2 |
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Author: Darya Date: Mon Dec 01, 2008 12:38 pm Darya
Darya hesitated with her answer. Of course she had been taught to hunt. The skills and knowledge of the hunt was crucial to survive in the wilderness of Sarmatia. Or rather…had been. She had been hunting with her father…but also with Tristan and her cousin Sinan. And Jarek of course, Tristan’s younger brother. Not always successful…but they had always had a good time. The memories of those moments were still quite vivid in her mind…simply because she refused to bury them deep down in her subconscious. Like a certain First Knight preferred to do. No, the female Sarmatian wanted to keep those few memories she had from her home alive. It was incredibly painful at times…but it also kept her sane. As much as this was possible after all Rome had put her and her people through. So did she hunt? Well, she had done this even on this miserable little island called Britain. In a way. Just that it had been people she had hunted down and killed. Not animals. The only thing those two ways of hunting had in common was…survival. Her survival and that of those who had been close to her. Yet since the dark-haired had managed to escape her former Fortress and its Commander, she had never even wasted a single thought on any kind of hunting anymore. Until now. “I…”, Darya then finally attempted a reply, “…hunting is…part of my people’s nature. It is…was…necessary to guarantee the survival of the tribe.” The woman gave Tatiana a wry smile; yet it did not really reach her dark eyes. “I haven’t been…on a hunt in a while though”, she then added before hiding her face by lifting the mug to her lips once more to drink the last bit of tea left in it. She took her time in doing so…trying to keep her emotions under control. At least that seemed to work… “But I think it would be good for you to get out and around a bit…”, the Sarmatian then continued after having cleared her throat slightly, “…to see more than just the stables. A little hunt sounds like a plan…though maybe you should not go alone. At least not as so long as the situation with the Woads is not settled…” Only now did the dark-haired meet the girl’s gaze again, hoping that Tatiana understood how very serious she was about the last words…
A slight smirk crossed Darya’s lips for a moment. “And it’s usually quite crowded in here, too…”, she mused, “…and certainly not as nice and rather quiet as it is right now when the men have one more found a reason to get drunk. But that might as well just be my opinion…”, pausing briefly, the female Sarmatian allowed her gaze to scan the tavern again, which was indeed comparatively empty and quiet at the moment, “depends on whether or not you enjoy being among lots of more or less sane people…” |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:29 PM Post #3 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Mon Dec 01, 2008 5:18 pm Galahad
Was she for real?! Galahad's strong hands were making swift, long swipes against his horse's grey coat. At her terse tone Galahad stopped. He looked over at the girl with burning blue flames in his eyes. Just who the hell was this girl and why did she think that because she didn't perceive him as a slave that he wasn't just that? The Knight had been in too many scrapes, he had admitted to himself too many flaws to ever consider himself to be 'sir knight'.
The Sarmatian felt his resolve weaken. He felt his sanity slip, surely! His wide, blue eyes were pathetic now as he stared at the child. His gaze drifted defeatedly to her fingers flicking the horse's mane and twisting it into a neat and girly braid and the Knight sighed. He shook his head, curly dark hair brushing his forehead. The Knight took a deep, deep breath and held it. He looked down at his bare foot and lifted his big, blackening toe off the ground, peering at it with morbid curiosity. Luckily the calllouses on his heel prevented any cold from really penetrating his body. Galahad was just giving up on reasoning with Tayala, the fight gone out of him. He wasn't going to tell her where in Sarmatia he was from. It didn't matter one little difference what part it was. It was all the same for any boys from anywhere in Sarmatia. What did it matter what part he came from then? Surly, tired and brow-beaten by a teenager, Galahad puffed out his cheeks and ceased brushing. He reached a hand forward to the grey's ears and rubbed the velvety fur gently.
Galahad sunk in against the horse. Oh how he wanted to just ignore Tayala's teasing comments but he found it nearly impossible to do that. Her chattering was sapping him of his energy and yet there was something infinitely light about it too, something relieving about the mundane things she addressed. She, unlike his friends, would not ask after Alina, she would not ask awkward questions and make him squirm as he tried not to recall that heartache. "Laughed? Ticklish... what... what are you talking about girl?" he asked sullenly, shaking his head with rueful admiration for her flightish conversation. He reached out and took old of her wrist, trailing his hand up to her fingers and stilled them about the horse's hair, holding them there as he looked at her. "She doesn't need to look pretty, only horsey. She just needs to be healthy and happy - and she is both. Haven't you got something better to do with your time than stand around trying my patience, hmm?" he asked, but his heart and venom was not in it. He just sounded, and looked, tired. And pitiful - with one bare foot on the gruond, toes curled into the fresh straw she had strewn earlier. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:30 PM Post #4 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Mon Dec 01, 2008 8:10 pm Lancelot Lancelot's eyes narrowed at Derfel's pregnancy joke - he knew the other man didn't know just how many women he was referring to. Especially the only one that mattered - the one he'd have to care for should Arthur end up being sliced and diced by the Magician. The one who carried the future of Artorius Castus and his fucking glory inside her - the one whom Lancelot called kin.
The Saxon returned to the main room of the small home; he was mostly dressed but still held his weapons, belt and coat in his hands. Lancelot shook his head, ignoring the ache in his wounded arm and his blacked eye. "You take longer getting ready than any woman I've ever had the misfortune to wake next to. Hadrian's balls - " he sighed. "I don't know what the hell the commander was thinking, allowing the Woad to stay here," he added, finally commenting on Derfel's mention of Neeria. "His giant, squishy soft heart had something to do with it, I'd wager." He tapped at his teeth with a dirty fingernail, his arms crossed over his slender chest - Lancelot was deceptive in his appearance to most. Reed thin, small frame, fae shape - he would guess (mostly correctly) he was the most adept and dangerous of Arthur's knights; size didn't matter in his case. Derfel and Dagonet and Bors might be large and intimidating physically, but turn your back on the first knight and you might as well kiss your head goodbye. The lithe and incongruous foxes that lived in the woods near Badon and the Sarmatian had a lot more in common than Lancelot would care to admit. Least of all his current stink. Lancelot's eyes swung to the door as a noise dragged his focus there; the thing opened and a blond stepped into the apartment, her gaze ticking from Derfel with concern to Lancelot with ... either shock, or curiosity, he couldn't tell which.
Ah, the Saxon's woman. She was a healer, if Lancelot remembered correctly, and the ... sister? Yes! He remembered her now. The sister of Dagonet's son's widow. His dry lips widened in what he hoped was a charming smile as she dropped a pretty if perfunctory curtsey. "No formalities needed, lady," he answered, trying not to frown as she immediately latched on to his obvious black eye. "And don't worry about me. This will be fine," he cut his gaze to Derfel. "I'm waiting on your ... husband, there, who happens to be as slow as Arth- most of us in getting ready." His smile glittered sharply as he turned his whip-like body to face the other man. "I'll wait outside, knight," he bit off. "Be there in two minutes." He passed by the couple, but stopped before he exited the home. "Lady...Linnesse, was it? If you make me that poultice, I'll come get it from you later. Hrm?" She's a pretty thing, if pale. I have to wonder - damn Cadarn! Not my home. Not what I want for myself. No. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:35 PM Post #5 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Tue Dec 02, 2008 10:57 am Catherine
Catherine did as she was bid. She lay back onto her bent elbows, propping her body up a little as she smiled down at him. His warm arm slid under her knee and she poitned her toes downwards, creating a beautiful, slender line from her knee to toe. The woman cocked an eyebrow at him and bit the edge of her lip, barely suppressing her smile of anticipation. It was so easy to be a whore! It was so easy to be the vessel for a man's pleasure when men's pleasures were so uncomplicated, so simple and so obvious. All he wanted, all he needed was for her to part her thighs for a short time, to throw her head back and moan her pleasure, to allow her body to feel it's own pleasure and he would then be satisfied. Oh it was easy to be a whore! The blonde did not necessarily think her position was a lowly one - she had a rather flippant attitude to sex. It was somethign she could do for a man, like a woman could mend or make a cloak, like another woman could cook a meal or create a blanket which she would then sell to a man. Catherine could create pleasure. She was gifted to do thus. Her only pitfall was her awkward attitude to accepting money for these pleasures... These thoughts trickled through her mind as she looked down at the Captain's curly dark hair as he lowered his face to her crotch. The woman closed her eyes before his tongue ever made contact with her moist flesh. She tipped her head back, the thin tendons in her neck standing out as she delighted in his knowledgeable caress. The caress was shortlived and Catherine bobbed her head forward again, giving the Captain a dazed smile. He was standing straight now, looking at her as he pressed the head of his cock against her opening. The woman gave a short hiss of pleasure as he slid inside of her and she tipped her head back again. Soft, blonde tendrils brushed the pale skin between her shoulder blades as he thrust inside of her. The feel of him was familiar - his hand on her hip, the other reached out to greedily hold her breast. Catherine moaned once and left her beautiful lips parted, her face awash with pleasure as she looked at Barbattus -
His body curved in around her, his broad shoulders shadowing her pale body as he bucked his hips. Catherine defied his earlier order and sat forward, draping an arm around his neck and clawing her nails against his strong shoulder. Not enough to hurt, but enough to perhaps leave a mark. She smiled at his intense expression, the indescribable joy that he was feeling from the heat and safety of her body. The whore shut her eyes and brushed her nose against his cheek, lazily trailing her lips against his trembling jaw. "Yes..." she whispered to him, her lips softly enclosing his ear loeb as she tugged gently. Their chests were close together and Catherine, feeling the Captain's mounting pleasure, leaned in more, crushing her lithe body against his warrior's torso. She bucked her hips, clashing their bodies against each other with every thrust and hooked her heel in under his firm buttocks. "Yes - please me." the woman ordered in a whisper, baring her teeth to his ear now, nipping down the strong vein along the side of his neck. "Yes!" her voice rose to a crescendo on the affirmative, feeling the man's body tense just before he filled her with his hot seed. Catherine smiled against his neck but continued bucking her hips, her own pleasure just a caress away. When the dizzying orgasm started to ebb she gave a hoarse chuckle, melting little kisses along his jaw and neck, her hips just rocking lazily now. "The brute pleases the lady... whoever would have thought that to be the end of the fairytale, hm?" Catherine teased sweetly, nudging her nose against his chin, breathing in the masculine scent of his skin. Drake and Mari Drake wiped a hand down his face. The callouses on his mucky palm made alot of noise against his dark beard. His dropped his hand to the counter top and drummed his fingers bluntly against the wood, glancing to the side at the man sitting down from him. He gave him a stiff but courteous nod and looked down the other end of the bar, seeking the wench who had gone off to get him his wine. She was taking an awful long time about it. The Spaniard hmphed the attention of another wench and sent her off to find the first one and to bring him back a chunk of bread as well. It was taking alot of effort not to turn around to look at Linnette. Not to be nosy - but simply out of habit, to make sure she wasn't in danger from herself or someone else. Habit - or malfunction? The Spaniard snorted cynically at his own dreary thoughts as the wench returned. He gave a harumph and baleful stare as she apologised for taking so long. She placed the amphora on the counter and the bread atop it. Drake slid the coins across the counter but did not wait for her to count it or offer him change before turning. His glance was a cursory one, left to right and then he ducked his head, striding with heavy footfalls towards the door. As he passed Linnette's table he thought of continuing to walk on pretending not to see her for fear she would think him some strange man who followed her wherever she went. But how could he do that? How many opportunities did he have to look upon her in public without her sister glaring or her sister's husband glaring?
Mari didn't form negative opinions on people. She was always willing to talk to someone even if they did not appear overtly friendly. She was always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, even if they did look like they were nursing a sore tooth or harbouring a festering temper, much like Drake did. It wasn't that he was unfriendly looking - he just ... he just seemed to bluntly defy anything that was smiling or cheery. He looked dangerous, Mari thought to herself as she caught another view of the side of his face.
Mari had a piece of bread in her hands. She was thumbing it between the pads of her fingers, softening it and rolling it as she listened with intense sadness to Linnette's telling of what she knew of the man's wife. Her brown eyes widened and her eyebrows lifted in genuine sympathy as the other woman explained that his wife was dead a long time. She glanced over towards the man and popped the rolled up bit of bread into her mouth, waiting to see him better when he turned. And when he did shel ooked down quickly. He did not look old enough to have a wife long dead, Mari thought to herself. But then, her own father didn't look old enough to have the mother of his child long dead either. Quite suddenly Mari wanted to know all about this Drake fella - she wanted to know why he had come to Badon Hill, what he did there and why he had never remarried in all the years since his wife died. She turned her honest brown eyes back to Linnette and saw the sadness written there as the woman explained her ideal for Drake. Guiltily Mari looked down at the papers she was going to use to draw Linnette's dead husband and she sighed. Absently she reached across to gently touch a soothing hand to the back of Linnette's... "Linnette." Drake murmured gruffly in greeting as he passed her table. He did not even look at the other girl at the table though he did recognise her as the one who was raped a couple of nights ago. It somehow did not startle or surprise Drake that Linnette was sitting down with the girl - probaby tending to her hurt dignity and shredded confidence, the Spaniard presumed. His fiery green eyes took in all things about Linnette in that brief moment and before he even blinked he had walked past her, his now stony eyes fixed on the door. The amphora sloshed at his side. Pushing open teh door, the old soldier stood framed by the grey sunlight a moment before stepping down and into the cold, the tavern door clunking shut behind him. He stalked across the courtyard towards the stables and picked up his sack of supplies from where he had unceremoniously dumped it outside the stables on his way to the tavern. He slung it over his shoulder and hulked on towards the fortress, glancing down at the rabbits for dinner on his hip. Mari jumped. The deep rumble of his voice had been quite unexpected. She gave a start and looked up at him as he walked by in undisguised fascination. She then looked back at Linnette with a gentle smile. "I'm sure you'll find just the person, Linnette. And I am sure she will be as lovely and sweet as you are too. I don't think he realises quite how lucky he is to have a friend like you to look out for him." Mari said in a hushed tone of voice, smiling with hope burning in her eyes. She skooched forwrad on her seat and glanced over towards teh door where Drake had gone. She looked back at Linnette and shrugged one small shoulder. "So, so far we need someone pretty, someone strong - and someone who can cheer him up. That doesn't sound so hard does it?" she grinned impishly, trying to levitate the mood, not wanting to see Linnette upset as she had been before. Smith A few woads followed Smith towards Merlin's hut. They knew better than to ask him for news when he strode with such purpose. No-one at the village was close enough to him to stand beside him as he delivered the report to Merlin either - and so he stood alone at their leader's hut door, head bent as he listened for the man inside. Footsteps. Smith looked up and the door opened. He inclined his head to the woad leader and then met his direct gaze without flinching. Smith was loyal to a fault - he did not bear any personal grudges against hte Romans for any wrongs done to him alone - he just wanted his country to be free. He wanted his people to be free. Merlin, he knew, was the means to that end and so because of that he followed the elderly man without question.
The young woad's handsome face was brightened by a wry smile at Merlin's initial, blase question. He took a deep breath and stepped back as Merlin stepped forward. He looked back at his horse adn then to his leader who was reaching for his dagger. Smith shook his head and extended his hand but did not touch the other woad, merely let his hand linger over Merlin's a moment before he spoke - "Guinevere is bringing Arthur to treat with you. We met them on our way to bury the dead. They are ten, eleven in number. Romans and two Sarmatians." the man's words were carefully chosen to give Merlin a precise and short assessment of what had transpired and what was to come - he informed him that the Romans were not attacking, that Guinevere had offered them some kind of hositlities truce by bringing Arthur thre, he had informed Merlin that they had yet to bury the dead and he also told the leader how many men to expect, and of what training. Licking his lips, Smith glanced back the way he had come and puffed out a breath. "They will be a while in getting here. I rode as fast as I could." the man did not make any mention of his concern that Arthur would be shown the way to their hidden village - if Merlin wished it he would order Smith to ride back and halt Guinevere, or he would order Smith to give him the horse and he would ride out to meet Arthur before he ever got any closer. As it was, the yound woad stood tall and strong, waiting for his leader's order on what to do next, his brown eyes glinting with intensity, vibrant in the heat of the moment. |
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| golden_trillium | May 29 2010, 10:58 PM Post #6 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Tue Dec 02, 2008 12:36 pm Derfel
Ah yes, Arthur’s renown kindness towards all. Derfel had been quite fortunate himself to have been the recipient of the Commander’s charitable and just nature. Thank the gods for Arthur’s personal involvement in the mission to rescue Linnesse from the Villa – otherwise Derfel would not be here at all; no doubt would have been cut down on sight by none other than the man standing before him right now. It had been Arthur's generosity that had spared Derfel then and Arthur's trust that had earned Derfel his freedom and the chance to redeem himself. Derfel opened his mouth – obviously without thinking of the consequences – to say something cutting about Lancelot’s undermining of Arthur’s motives when the First Knight’s hard assessing gaze was suddenly drawn away….Derfel had been far too focused on Lancelot’s astringent words to hear the soft sounds of someone tapping at the door. He followed the direction of Lancelot’s gaze to find the door to the apartment opening and Linnesse entering the room.
“I am, luv…” Derfel murmured to his love; unable to suppress an affectionate smile for Linnesse despite the present company and the duty he faced. Linnesse’s nose and cheeks were tinged with color no doubt due to the chill in the air outside. He knew that she had little tolerance for the icy weather of the winter months. But the smile that had filled Derfel’s expression dimmed as his lover gave a very cordial bow to Lancelot. And the smug smile that now dominated the Sarmatian’s angular features nearly had Derfel scowling. His fingers flexed in their grip on his weapons and overcoat.
Linnesse’s instincts as a healer were what surely drove her in offering to give aid to Lancelot. But Derfel still did not have to like it. The thought of his lover actually touching the other man made Derfel’s gut instantly knot up. He shifted his overcoat to drape over his shoulder so that he could reach out for Linnesse when his lover stepped closer. And as Lancelot answered, Derfel’s now free hand slid affectionately - possessively - around Linnesse’s tiny waist.
Derfel could not help it; he rolled his eyes at Lancelot even as his fingers gently squeezed reassuringly at Linnesse’s hip. The young knight had gotten himself together rather quickly in his opinion. But Lancelot had said one thing that Derfel had actually welcomed – he’d refered to the knight as Linnesse’s ‘husband’. That brought on a proud smile even as Lancelot’s angry eye…eyes….became once again fixed sternly on Derfel’s scruffy expression. Although they had not properly been wed yet, as long as the Sarmatian recognized the fact that Linnesse was indeed NOT a woman that Lancelot could toy with then Derfel was content.
“I’ll be right there to do my duty….and I’ll see to it ye get that poultice meself, aye?” Derfel added with a lopsided and friendly grin that did not quite reach his blue eyes. Oh he was awake now for sure and determined to shield Linnesse from any further exposure to Lancelot if he could help it. Besides, the Sarmatian had an odor about him the rivaled that of the sows in the yard behind the stables. Of course Derfel wasn’t in much better shape himself…he’d not had the time for a proper bath and shave today on account of his need to sleep off the ill effects of too much ale the night before. Ah well. “I’ve been ordered to guard some prisoner,” Derfel explained to Linnesse with a sheepish grin the moment Lancelot passed on out of the apartment. “And Lancelot seems to be in a rush about it,” He further commented with a hint of annoyance at the manner of the First Knight’s means of carrying out the Commander’s orders. Derfel then bent to place a light kiss on Linnesse’s forhead. Her pale skin was still chilled despite the flush in her cheeks. And Derfel truly wished that he had more time here to see to his lover's needs. But no doubt Lancelot would be after him with a pointed weapon beyond his sharp tongue should Derfel linger now. “Not sure how long I’ll be, luv…you warm enough?” He asked with concern prevalent in his tone. Linnesse was still recovering from an illness and Derfel would prefer that his lover would remain here, safe and warm, while he was at his duties. |
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| golden_trillium | May 29 2010, 11:00 PM Post #7 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Tue Dec 02, 2008 1:00 pm Neeria Neeria swiped her dirty hair from her eyes and looked at the clothes Vanora held out for her to try on. The woad was particularly drawn to the doe-skinned boots. She reached out a dirty hand - the nails embedded with filth and grime - and took the items from Vanora.
Neeria looked over at Neeve with dark, child-like eyes. She doubted the healer would allow such a thing. Neeve was still brooding and it was obvious she was not happy with the whole situation. "Well, maybe." Neeria replied. "I am, after all, still a prisoner. I doubt my warden would allow such a thing," she added, giving Neeve a smirk just to press her buttons. The woad believed she was beginning to enjoy poking at the healer and stifled a chuckle.
Neeria looked down at the clothes in her arms. Never before had she been given such things to wear. Neeria's wardrobe mainly consisted of leather loin cloths and trousers and breast straps and halters. Sometimes she wore boots but often she went bare-foot. And even when she did wear boots, they often weren't as nice as those that Vanora presented. Neeria dropped the boots to the floor and held the dress up by the shoulders, turning her head sideways and scrunching up her nose. Then the woad held the dress up to her chest and kicked out her leg so that the dress fell smoothly against her person. The wild haired dirty woman slung the dress over her arm and reached down to pull up the large tunic she wore. She raised her arms and pulled and tugged until she got the big garment over her head. Glad to be free from the filthy garment, Neeria quickly tossed it to the floor. Used to being nude in the company of others, she thought nothing of baring her firm perfect breasts in front of the other women. Her olive skin glistened in the dim light of the fireplace, her dark nipples perky. Next, she unhooked her trousers and let them fall to her ankles, stepping out them and kicking them aside. Of course she wore no breeches and was unabashed at the thick bush of dark hair between her legs. Neeria took the garment Vanora had given her and pulled it over her head, not sure about what she was doing at all. She eventually figured out where to put her arms and let the dress fall down her small, well toned body. She looked like a child in a potato sack. The dress swallowed the petite woman whole. Feeling odd and completely out her depth of understanding, the woad bit her bottom lip and looked at the other women. "Does it make me a lady?" she asked, wide eyed. She tugged at the front of the dress and looked down, straight through to the floor. Then Neeria looked at Vanora with a frown on her face. "My teets are not as big as yours to hold it in place," she said flatly, cupping her breasts and lifting them up higher. "But I like it!" Then she bent over and belly laughed. |
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| golden_trillium | May 29 2010, 11:01 PM Post #8 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Tue Dec 02, 2008 3:08 pm Guinevere Guinevere could feel Arthur’s warmth. His thick cloak surrounded her small blue body, and its soft material stroked against her outer thighs. The Woad breathed softly through her nose, and closed her eyes momentarily. Arthur’s firm breastplate supported her back, and she felt...comfortable. Unthreatened. She could feel his warm breath beside her ear, and she melted into it. Oh, the Woad princess was used to the cold. The temperamental British weather was something she loved, and would fight to preserve. The woman had dwelt in deeper snow, and endured hard rain, and she hoped Rome suffered in it. It was however, a fertile land. It produced crop and it created strong men and women...and Rome sought to steal that. Guinevere and her people represented an infallible strength, and she took pride in it. Her eyes looked at the Optio, and she mocked him with their dark depths. Her full mouth was pouted, and there was a challenge in her gaze. If the Optio had returned alone and without the aid of Arthur Castus...then he would have been a dead man. Guinevere would have ordered it so. She did not deal with cowardice...nor Romans in general. Arthur was an interesting exception, and his British mother granted him leverage...
Guinevere turned back to look at Arthur, and her black eyes glittered in the dull sunlight. If she had moved closer, their noses would have touched. She parted her lips in contemplation, and gazed into the emerald depths of his eyes. Oh, he saw everything. Guinevere did not doubt it. There was an intelligent mind behind those severe eyes, and Guinevere saw herself reflected back in them. The woman breathed an amused laugh from her warm lips, and brushed a hand upwards into her dark hair. Several loose curls fell from their binds, and tickled softly around her face. She was pretty, striking with vehemence, but there was more to Guinevere. More substance, more fibre, more indignance and intellect than most Romans could understand. She was born to lead, and to serve the British cause. “Why? So you can ask your God to forgive his inexperience and allow him to place the blame upon us? Savages?” Guinevere’s tone was soft, lazy, and a slight smile touched her mouth. She was amused by Arthur’s question. Surely the Optio had lied about the encounter...and been allowed to approach again? Pointing the blame would achieve nothing, and so Guinevere laughed. It was a quiet sound, but one that shared nothing. She reached forwards and rested one hand over the top of Arthur’s. It was a friendly gesture. His hands were freezing. She spoke again, tilting her head to the side. “Make no mistake, if you were not sharing his company...the man would be dead now. You have come to save his dignity, no doubt? And I have come to make sure you aren’t killed before your audience with my father...” Guinevere moved her fingers over his, attempting to massage the feeling back into his hands. She felt his rough skin against hers, the solid line of his impressive knuckles, and she kneaded them strongly, encouraging heat. The Woad looked down at his hands, and spoke again. “Your hands are freezing.” She spoke impassively, directly. |
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| golden_trillium | May 29 2010, 11:02 PM Post #9 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Tue Dec 02, 2008 3:28 pm Tayala
Seeing that one of her hands was free, Tayala decided to show him just what exactly it was that she was talking about, she just hoped that he was ticklish. "This is what I'm talking about, sir Knight." Tayala said while walking as close to him as possible, and looking up into his sad blue eyes once, let out a sad sigh of her own before she used her tiny fingers to playfully explain what it was that she was talking about. Stretching her arm to give herself a bit more agility that left her body open and defenseless, in case he decided to get her back in the same way while she was occupied to help her with her little plan. Locating his underarm, stomach and sides with her tiny hand, Tayala let loose a one-handed tickle session on those areas of his body that she could reach and tried her best, by standing on tiptoe and slightly arching her lithe form to reach those areas that were slightly out of her range of fire. This has got to work on him as I can't stand him to be so upset and sad like he is. While she tickled him, she spoke again. "She can look both pretty and horsey, you know? A horse can be both, just like a Knight can be both a powerful warrior and a friend. There's no need to choose, let her be both..just like you can be, Galahad." "No, not really as all my chores are done and once that happens, the remaining time is mine to do with as I please and I like being around you."Tayala said with a nod while keeping up with her playful game. |
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| golden_trillium | May 30 2010, 12:19 AM Post #10 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Tue Dec 02, 2008 5:18 pm Arthur Guinevere’s coal black eyes were upon him again. But her curious stare had no real effect on Arthur, at least not under these circumstances. Nor did he read any threat in her honest and confident expression. But Arthur had no doubt that Guinevere’s gaze sought whatever valuable thing(s) she could learn from him as they rode on towards her father. And the woman could see whatever she wished in the depths of his liquid green eyes as well, if that was indeed what she sought. Arthur had no secrets in regards to his purpose this day. And Guinevere should know that he was a man of his word. And Arthur had been clear in that which he sought – peace. But one thing was for certain; the man’s true heart lay far too deep for anyone to examine so easily these days. Lancelot had shattered what was once a strong and powerful thing beating for all the world to see – Darya had attempted to be the salve, repair what once was….but what was broken could not be mended. So be it. A flicker of emotion illuminated the golden flakes within Arthur’s emerald eyes if only for a moment…..but as his gaze ticked to the snow covered path before them, the Roman’s psychological armour only strengthened its grip around his heart.
The lady had apparently found the question amusing despite the Roman having asked it in earnest. No matter. Arthur’s only response was a snort of contempt at her use of the word ‘savage’. And due to their close proximity, his reaction appeared to disturb the long tendrils of hair that framed her face with the exhale of his breath. Of course Guinevere had accurately guessed the rest – the Roman had prayed for God’s forgiveness in regards to the failures of both he and his men. But he did not blame the Woads or his officers….oh no, Arthur blamed only himself for the breakdown of yesterdays peace talks with Merlin. And then Arthur felt long elegant fingers and the soft fleshy palm of her hand press over his large hand where it rested flat against Guinevere’s stomach. What did Merlin’s daughter wish to gain by this little act of intimacy? Arthur knew that Guinevere did not fear him nor had their ‘relationship’ ever been anything but one of strained and curious friendship – yet she was toying with him now. Why? Perhaps it was only the cold that pricked at them both skewing everything.
“I have come to make peace with your father. The decorum of one man is nothing in comparison to the safety of us all…do you not agree?” Arthur countered with a slight curve of his mouth. His hand remained still beneath her touch…even as he felt her thumb caress over his knuckles; her fingers massaging his and giving away her hidden physical strength in the movement.
“Careful, lady…you may yet convince me that you care,” Arthur said, his tone mildly caustic and firm gaze shifting once again to the frozen path ahead. Arthur had a pair of thick leather gloves packed away in his saddlebag and certainly he should be making use of their warmth….but allowing Guinevere this ‘act of kindness’ somehow seemed logical. He obviously held her captive, thus why not allow Guinevere to have a sense of control while in Arthur’s possession. She was nestled snugly between his thighs and half wrapped in his crimson cloak….she was how Arthur planned to guarantee the safety of his men. He would sacrifice himself if need be…but his men would be allowed to return to the fortress. Arthur did trust that his Optio, who rode close behind, could get the men back to Badon if need be. |
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| golden_trillium | May 30 2010, 12:20 AM Post #11 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Tue Dec 02, 2008 5:24 pm Rosita and Nolan Rosita shifted the weight of her quiver into a more comfortable position on her back as she and Nolan led the group through the wood. The woman wondered how far out Merlin would meet them. She didn't think for a moment that their leader would allow Arthur and the Romans anywhere near the village. The fact they'd gotten as far as they did meant Arthur and his party were extremely lucky. The dark-eyed woad reached down to her hip and grapped the flask that hung around her waist. She pulled back the plug with her teeth and raised the skin to her dry lips. The sun barely peeked out from behind a rapidly moving cloud and the brisk wind howled through the woods. Rosita took a drink and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then dragged her hand down the front of her leather pants. She handed the flask over to Nolan who took it from her and drank his fill before handing it back. Rosita put the flask back on her hip and turned around to look at the group. She rested her eyes on the braided scout for a moment. The woman didn't trust the Sarmatian at all - even less than she trusted the Romans. The scout was smart and he knew the terrain. That combination could be lethal. Out of the corner of her eye, Rosita noticed sudden movement in the back of the group. She turned around quickly just as she saw the youngest Roman dismount and withdraw a dagger. "They're attacking!" she growled at Nolan and reached around her back, grabbing her long bow along with an arrow in one fluid motion. Rosita loaded her weapon and pulled the heavy string back. She ran toward Brendyn at full speed, lining him perfectly in her sights. "Move and you die!" the woad commanded in a calm, steady voice. Nolan ran next to Arthur's horse, his sword drawn. If this was an effort of theirs to attack them, Nolan would protect Merlin's daughter at all cost - with his own life if it came to that. "Guinevere!" he called anxiously. "Get down! It's a trap!" Nolan glared at Arthur, his nostrils flaring, foaming at the mouth. "I knew you weren't to be trusted!" he growled, locking dark angry eyes with the commander. |
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| golden_trillium | May 30 2010, 12:22 AM Post #12 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Tue Dec 02, 2008 9:13 pm Linnesse As Linnesse inched closer to Derfel, though she kept her eyes still rather warily on Lancelot, she felt Derfel’s arm snake out from beside her and encircle her waist, pulling her in a little nearer, and though at first she was comforted by it, it didn’t take her longer than a second to detect something rather…indignant? possessive?...in the gesture. Why was he…Linnesse began to shoot a quick questioning glance up at him, but her attention was drawn back to Lancelot as he spoke again- his manner courtly, his smile just a little wicked, evincing all the charm that Linnette had told her the dark knight possessed.
Derfel squeezed her hip proprietarily, and Linnesse looked up at him again, narrow-eyed, while she lightly but pointedly bumped her hip against his. Derfel wasn’t…jealous, was he? Linnesse was at least gratified to feel him relax and see his stern, uncomfortable expression dissolve into a proud smile when Lancelot used the word husband. There- that seemed to have reassured him. Silly- he had nothing to worry about, anyway. “I do hope you’ll excuse Derfel, sir- he was ill this morning. But I’m sure he’s almost ready,” Linnesse murmured, re-using the title even though she had been assured it was not necessary- it felt wrong to leave it off when she was begging his indulgence in this. Her own hand nearest Derfel slid to the middle of his back, where she spread it out and pressed it to him reassuringly, feeling the warmth through his shirt and the hard, bumpy contours of his backbone, rubbing lightly up and down. She did wonder a bit about the First Knight’s aborted reference to Arthur- why he would bad-mouth his superior’s getting-ready habits was a mystery to her- but she didn’t dwell on it- she was more concerned with defusing the situation here, if indeed it still needed defusing.
“Certainly- I’ll be in the infir....” Linnesse, still glued to Derfel’s side, started to drop another curtsy as she spoke, but Derfel cut over both her words and her gesture, apparently preferring a slightly different plan.
Well, all right. Linnesse shrugged, feeling a little defeated, and stepped back from Derfel’s side as Lancelot left the apartment, looking up at Derfel curiously and with a hint of frustration in her eyes, too…he wasn’t honestly worried, was he?
“I’ll be fine- it’s warmer in the infirmary,” Linnesse reassured him easily- though her eyes remained worriedly on his face and she set her hands on his upper arms, above all the stuff that he carried, intending on preventing him from moving away immediately after he had kissed her forehead. She tilted her head to one side, searching his face shrewdly- there was concern there, but she couldn’t tell whether it was just for her warmth, or still for something else, too. “You do know that Lancelot has absolutely nothing on you, don’t you?” she murmured, stepping in closer and tipping her face up to nuzzle her cold nose affectionately against his much warmer but scratchy chin. Her arms slipped from his and wound themselves around his waist, and she finished off her little reassurance with a quick kiss on his lips, standing on tiptoe to do it. “At least not with that terrible black eye,” she added jokingly as she sank down on flat feet again and took a little step backward, her hands sliding to the sides of his waist. |
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| golden_trillium | May 30 2010, 12:24 AM Post #13 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Tue Dec 02, 2008 9:58 pm Ione The visit had been welcomed, and they had not stayed long insisting that Ione get some rest. They assured her that they'd be alright for the coming night time, and left the Weaver's shop for home. Ione stood by the door and looked out at the people scurrying to and fro with goods, or just talking about something or other. The sadness in her heart was still there and very fresh, and though she had tried to avoid it, there was just no way to do so. She looked back at the finished cloak on the table, then grabbed her cloak, stepped outside and locked the door behind her. Right now, Ione was glad that no one paid much attention to her as she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts, and to prepare herself to visit the graves of Accolan and her child, Ian. Being rather superstitious about visiting graves at night, Ione wanted to go before it got dark out. With these thoughts, Ione went to the infirmary to find Sister Margaret who had been so comforting along with Linnesse during her miscarriage, and found the nun sitting at a desk working on some papers. She turned as Ione approached, "Dear child, should you not be resting? Your miscarriage only happened a few hours ago, and you really should rest." The weaver bowed her head, and whispered, "I would like to visit Ian's grave as well as the knight Accolan's grave.... do you know where he is buried?" "I do, Ione, but we must not stay out too long as it will be dark soon," She set aside her papers, and arose to put on her cloak. Ione followed the nun as they left the infirmary and out to the graveyard beyond the walls of the fort. Sister Margaret led Ione to a small grave under a young tree that was about as tall as the weaver. She wished that she had some flowers to place on the small grave, but just being here near the grave gave Ione some comfort in knowing that Titrus was right, and that she knew where Ian was: with the angels. Staring at the grave gave her a time to mourn for him that she felt that she had not done properly earlier. Near by, Sister Margaret had found a patch of wild heather that had blossomed slightly, and brought a small bouquet to Ione who took them and placed them lovingly on Ian's grave. With this act, she left him go. Oh, she'd preserve his memory, but she had to release him in her own way. Ione vowed to visit the grave as often as was possible, and also when her other unborn child was grown a bit.... just so that he or she knew about their brother. Against the gray sky, Ione bowed her head and said a silent prayer for her dead son's soul, while Sister Margaret joined in. All was silent about them, and only the sounds of whispered prayer carried on the Winter wind could be heard... Brendyn Brendyn held the stallion steady as he prepared to remove the tightly wedged stone from the horse's hoof. Gods how it must have hurt him! He gently took the hoof in his hand and prepared to remove the stone when...
Brendyn moved slowly to place the injured hoof on the ground, then, slowly turned to look into the face of a wildly lovely woad who had a bow and arrow pointed at him. This was a mission of peace, so why would he even do something so stupid as to ruin what had been built so far? Could she not see that he was tending to his horse's injury? Brendyn's temper had reached it's limit with the insolence of the lovely woad woman. Brendyn was not phased by the woad nor the arrow as he and Tyranus had faced many in their careers, but he was surprised a bit by the sudden reaction. In his mind, Brendyn was boiling mad. How dare this woman accuse him of attacking! The soldier began to think quickly, not making any move as yet. he quickly thought of a manuver that Antonius had taught him in training. Do not think of your actions, Brendyn. That only gives the enemy time to kill you. You must act fast... Everything had to be timed perfectly, and his muscles tensed waiting. Then, without even a thought, the young soldier quickly lashed out a hand and pushed the arrow away from him as he rolled out of the way to avoid being shot by it. The move finished in a fluid motion as he regained his footing, and reached out a strong hand to grab the bow from behind befor she could re load. Brendyn finished the manuver by bringing her arm down slightly to her side and at a sort of awkward angle... not to break her arm, but t cause her enough pain to possibly drop the weapon.... Near by, the black horse groaned in pain as the area just above the hoof began to swell a bit more. Snow would bring down the swelling, but right now, Brendyn could only keep his attention on the female woad. Still keeping her detained in this way, he yelled out, "COMMANDER!" |
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| golden_trillium | May 30 2010, 12:28 AM Post #14 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Wed Dec 03, 2008 9:22 am Linnette The silence stretched for a moment between her and Mari, while the other girl wadded and chewed a piece of bread and Linnette dared not turn around- though she knew with a certainty that Drake was still there, waiting at the counter, and even getting a little impatient as he waited. Mari shot him a couple of glances- always looking away quickly- then slid her hand across the table to touch Linnette’s… …and then there were footfalls behind them, footfalls that Linnette recognized even without even conscious thought, and before she could even turn around, a low, gruff murmur from behind her…
That was it- just her name, a brief, quiet greeting, but it made her spine stiffen and her breath catch, and she twisted abruptly to see him, but saw only his retreating back, going away down the aisle between the tables. He was carrying a package that might have been bread, by the shape and size of it, and besides the rabbits, he had a whole amphora of wine. A whole amphora?? Was he…was he dining with someone else, then? A stab of indignation surprised Linnette, and she turned back to Mari with a deep breath and the beginnings of a retort of some kind on her lips. Had she got it all wrong? Did he have a woman, after all?
Mari blabbed on, cheerful as ever, but Linnette’s shoulders sagged as she exhaled, her indignant exclamation dying before it was uttered. There was nothing to be indignant about…nothing she had to say about this, anyway. It had been a stupid fantasy from the beginning…and there was nothing she could do to truly repay Drake. Nothing he could not as easily do for himself, anyway. Nothing she could do to make him smile. The picture she had had of herself, basking in the knowledge that she was responsible for his happiness, was a ridiculous joke. And she was a silly fool for entertaining it. “Probably harder than it seems,” she grumbled in response to Mari’s question, feeling for the very first time the girl’s optimism start to grate on her nerves. She heaved a sigh, on a despairing note, and determinedly picked up her mug, quaffing the rest of the wine at one go and wishing again that it was stronger. The image of Gedeon was burning behind her eyes again, etching itself further and further in, embedding itself in grief and pain. More tears threatened. Fuck it- she was so tired of crying! “Do you think we should go see if Dagonet and Saoirse are ready?” she asked, a quick, determined change of subject, her face as straight as she could make it. It was probably too soon- they hadn’t been here in the tavern that long. But damn it, they had to get this portrait made! They had to, before memory faded and pain somehow became even worse! Linnette thought she would give anything to look on Gedeon’s face again, even on paper- and the means to do that was so near and yet so far! Why did Dagonet have to pick now to take a bath? Exhaling on another exasperated, angry sob, Linnette picked up her napkin and crumpled it savagely in her good hand. The crushing of the insubstantial folds of the cloth seemed like the crushing of all her foolish, foolish matchmaking dreams. Merlin
Arthur? To treat? Merlin removed his hand from the dagger hilt only slowly and deliberately, readily believing Smith's reassurance that there was no threat, but remaining wary nonetheless, at this new revelation. Arthur had come himself? Methodically, Merlin straightened his fingers and drew his dagger hand back in, to pull his fur cloak around him alongside the other one, as he listened gravely to the rest of Smith's concise report.
"They must not come near the village," Merlin snapped out immediately, taking an automatic step further away from the hut and sweeping his piercing gaze around all of the clearings and small buildings he could see, almost as if Romans might be springing out of the undergrowth even as he watched. There was nothing, though..nothing but his own people going about their business, and Smith had said they'd be a while yet. And that there were less than a dozen of them. Merlin turned back to Smith, a momentary sheepish smile crossing his features in mute apology for the snappish initial reaction, but his face fell back into sternness again as he began to issue orders, outlining the plan even as the Gods placed it into his mind. "Ride back to the ford, Smith." The ford...yes, that would be perfect. Several paths came together there, and it was sufficiently far from the village while being near enough that Merlin could reach it in less than an hour's fast walk. No rest for the weary. "Stop them on the far side of it. They must go no further. I will pass the word for other scouts to concentrate there, and if they try to force their way on, kill them." Merlin gave a silent snarl, baring his teeth momentarily, at the thought of spilling the Roman blood that might be so impertinant as to cross his ford. They would deserve it- yes, even half-British Castus! "I will take a few others, circle around, and come to the ford by the east path- hopefully that will confuse them and they will not realize what direction the village really is." And we'll need an extra watch here, just in case... the implications strung themselves out in Merlin's mind like a string of clay beads, and he ticked them off one by one, making sure that no stray end was unaccounted for. Tired and weary his people might be from the march...but the village must not be discovered! But it would not be. He and his people, who were strong with the strength of the forests, would not allow it to happen. They would not allow their home to be found out and destroyed. "Go," Merlin urged Smith with a dismissive gesture towards his horse, once again perversely glad that he had the damned beast. It was proving useful...not that Merlin wanted too many of them around, or that he thought they could not do this without the horse! The Woads would always do exactly what they had to do...but maybe a Roman animal was occasionally, occasionally, a bit useful. "Juna- I have to go," the Woad leader added, half-turning and placing a hand briefly on the healer's shoulder as she came out of the doorway of the hut, looking curious as to what was going on. "Spread the word among the noncombatants that they must not leave the village till I return," he added, easily transitioning into giving the the order, regardless of her status as his lover as well. All Merlin's people were his to order- and they all contributed to the struggle, regardless of whether or not they fought. "I go to treat with Castus himself," he added in brief explanation, and then, with a light squeeze to her upper arm, he was off, jogging across the clearing in search of others to run messages to the scouts, and a few to go with him, and others to watch the village borders...so much that needed to be set in motion. |
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| golden_trillium | May 30 2010, 12:30 AM Post #15 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Wed Dec 03, 2008 10:24 am Guinevere Intimacy? It was a strange notion to Guinevere, because unlike most women, she did not seek it. Her priority was to serve her father, Merlin, and protect Briton against imminent corruption. The Woad Princess saw Rome claim more and more land, and it galled her. She would do everything in her power to halt their victories, their success, and in this moment? Accepting peace and trusting Arthur was her only option. Guinevere of Briton did not despise Arthur. There was familiarity there, an understanding that was supported by their shared desires for an eventual peace. They both knew the wars that approached, and understood that one might eventually be forced to kill the other...but that day was not today. Guinevere sat comfortable between Arthur’s warm thighs, and massaged his strong fingers. Her small digits smoothed between his hard knuckles and she looked down at his hands, tilting her head to the side. Several dark curls teased over her forehead, and she blinked lazily, slowly. Her expression was emotionless, impassive. Arthur was not used to the cold, and it made sense to warm him. She did not truly think upon it, nor considered his status as the enemy. They shared a peace today...and warmth.
“We both desire peace and safety, Arthur.” She answered softly, quietly, and looked up from his hands. Her dark eyes were lit with a black fire, and she smiled at him. It was an honest thing, small, but enough to portray sincerity. The woman nodded towards the Optio, and glanced at him again. She made no secret of her critical gaze, her judgmental eye. She spoke again to Arthur. “You always did speak so intelligently. It is very UN-Roman of you...because you know as well as I...that peace cannot be attained by the meaningless spilling of blood.” Guinevere looked back at Arthur, and her gaze grew vehement, challenging, passionate. Guinevere did not wish for war, but she knew it was necessary to achieve peace...and yet, it was a horrible paradox. Why should Peace be won after violence and bloodshed? Rome should give up its malicious fight for British territory, and leave them be. Guinevere was no coward, and she fought on level skill with many men...but she did not desire bloodshed. She believed in something better, an eventual peace...
Guinevere looked at Arthur, and an amused light flickered in her eyes. Care? How very bold of him! The Woad knew he mocked her, and she breathed a laugh from her warm lips. Guinevere cared about a lot of things, but a Roman’s wellbeing? The thought was humorous. Perhaps she did care for Arthur’s safety? Or perhaps she cared long enough to use him politically? To manipulate him to achieve her own aims? It made no difference, and Guinevere shrugged off the comment. They would have made powerful allies, but care? It was such a loose word, so very vague. The woman did not stop massaging his hands. Her strong fingers pressed into his knuckles, the tip between his thumb and fingers. She spoke sweetly. “You confuse my intentions Commander. I just want to be very aware of where your hands are...” In case he should draw a sword? In case he should fancy himself overly confident with his captive? Guinevere laughed again, but did not move her hand. It would take more than Roman arrogance to reduce her boldness...
Guinevere reacted. She heard Rosita’s voice, and she recognised Nolan’s shouting...and her black eyes rested sharply upon Nolan. Her touch halted on Arthur’s hand. She was confused, but ready to react...should anything foul be taking place. With a whip of brown hair, she turned to look to Rosita, and frowned darkly in the female Woad’s direction. A skirmish? There was more movement. One of Arthur’s men stepped towards Rosita and disarmed her. What in gods....? Guinevere’s lifted her boot higher up the horse’s side, ready to draw her dagger...should she need it. But it was odd. It appeared a strange trap. If Arthur was plotting her demise, he would have attacked her first, and not aimed for the others...surely? Guinevere breathed in sharply, and spoke to Arthur. “What is the meaning of this? You claim peace and then your men attack?” Guinevere’s voice was level, calm, and she turned to Nolan and Rosita, speaking hard and loudly. “There will be no bloodshed here!” Her voice was demanding, and highly irritated. Guinevere was confused by the actions taking place, but she did not understand the source of the problem. There was an established peace, and now there were small fights breaking out? It was ridiculous! Guinevere’s body language had changed. She sat upright in the saddle, and frowned at the scene before her. |
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