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| January 2009 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 3 2010, 01:14 PM (1,515 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 12:50 AM Post #16 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Mon Jan 05, 2009 3:31 pm Smith The winter was beautiful. Smith's weather-darkened skin may have been exposed but he did not shiver nor did his teeth chatter with cold. Snow drifted down from the overhead branches and left a dappling of starry flakes on his dark hair. His shoulders were slouched and one arm was lazily draped over his firm thighs pressed flat against the saddle beneath him. He looked relaxed - he looked as if he sat in his mothers kitchen before the hearth after a hearty meal with nothing ahead of him other than a good night's sleep. But this was simply appearances. In reality the young woad was as alert and wary as a mother protecting it's young. His dark eyes canted from side to side now and then, ever aware of his kin in the trees, shadowing them. It brought a lazy smile to his handsome face now and then - so that when he turned to glance at his trailing companions it looked as if he were either crazed or precognitively confident in the future. The forest thrummed around them. Most probably did not notice it but Smith did. His eyelids fluttered once or twice as the wildlife around them tensed in anticipation of their passage. He felt their uncertainty as clearly as a scent on the wind - it drifted to him with grace and natural comprehension of his awareness. There was relative silence behind them - a silence broken as some of the Romans took to lighting torches to guide their way. Smith glanced back at those holding the torches and gave a wry, handsome and sage smile. A lazy smile - cocky and yet gentle. "You need not fear I will lead you astray." he purred to no one in particular behind him, turning to face front once more, swaying with the movement of Scáth over the uneven winter forest floor. Amadeus Would the effort of this truce-meeting be enough to save Arthur... Amadeus wondered to himself. He hurt all over. He had not yet slept since the day before and the night before that he had barely slept also. His thigh was hot with pain - the small cuts and scrapes he had incurred during the woad attack seemed to all be lethal, infected, festering wounds right now. And what didn't feel too hot with feverish, pucey pain felt as if it were almost black with frostbite. Oh Britain had not changed at all since he had been here as a boy! It had been this cold, it had been this challenging and merciless even then - but then he had never been one to ride around the forests at night in the snow. The grey eyed Optio looked forward with a neutral expression. He seemed to be looking at their path ahead but his eyes drifted now and then to the broad back of Arthur as he sheltered the woad bitch in his arms upon his lap. What would Rome make of that? Forget their possible forgiveness for Arthur's intentions to create a peace with the barbarians - this show of intimacy with the black magicians daughter, of all people, would be the final nail in Castus' crucifix. Already Amadeus had it in his mind to convince Rome that there was a serious chance that they would lose the support and loyalty of Castus to the woad witch and he had no doubt that Rome would believe him. There was no reason not to believe him. The leading woad on the horse turned and spoke in an accented voice. Amadeus did not hear what he said, so far adrift in his own thoughts was he, but he gave the young woad a wary glower in any case. He thought about riding forward to speak with Arthur about what had transpired with Merlin but decided to leave such a conversation until the woad whore was gone. Perhas that was part of Castus' plan - to avoid having to explain his failure. Saoirse and Mari Mari thought of her father then also. She was shaken. She was not afraid - but felt rather distracted and dizzied by what had just happened. It was not her nature to frequent taverns - her dealings had always been in passing and when they were not in passing she was usually found sitting outside or sitting under the melifluous notes of a bard or minstrel if there was one to be found in one of her fathers haunts. But her father! Oh she dreaded the thoughts of him being in the tavern to witness that debacle. Her face visibly paled as Linnetted guided her across the courtyard, out of harms way, when she thought of what her father would have done to any and all of those men arguing and fighting the way they had been. He would have mopped the floor with them, she thought heavily, feeling her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth.
Mari gave a little intake of breath as Linnette spoke. Her wide brown eyes looked at the other woman with stunned caution at first and then she nodded mutely, a shy and uncertain smile ghosting over her dry lips. Dagonet and Saoirse's sounded good. The young woman was unaware of the pursuing threat that Linnette felt - she was more caught up in a black, bleak and painful memory that was doing it's best to rear it's ugly head and she was doing her best to quash. The last thing she needed was to break down in a nervous heap in front of Linnette - Linnette who was so recently widowed, Linnette who was now faced with raising a babe all on her own. Mari came to a tottering halt at Dagonet's door and looked sheepish when she did not offer to knock instead of Linnette with her poor bandaged hand. She rubbed her hands together, blowing into her cold palms, wishing Milan were there to warm her fingers for her. She looked at the papers offered to her and gave another sheepish blush as she accepted them - "Oh thank you..." she whispered, biting her bottom lip and glancing at Linnette, noticing, inanely, that Linnette was quite a bit shorter than she was. For some reason this gave her a renewed sense of being something important to Linnette. Of watching over the woman and ensuring that this anguish and heartache did not weaken her small body anymore than was inevitable. "Thank you -" she repeated, her tone stronger after she had cleared her throat. The young woman sniffed a little, her confidence and cheer restoring itself slowly but surely as they waited for the door to open. She offered Linnette a hopeful smile just as the door opened, the fiery red-head standing looking at them with blazing blue eyes which only softened by miniscule proportions when she recognised who it was that had disturbed them. "Oh hi." Mari tweeted brightly but quietly. The soft wool tunic that Saoirse wore was not doing much to keep the cold out. She donned a second one as she walked back from the hearth. The fire was blazing, lighting the room with an orange balming glow, but it was too soon for it to be emitting any true warmth. Dagonet was behaving himself on bed. He was swathed in whatever blankets and furs the red head could lay her slender hands on about his dusty old room. She glanced over her shoulder at the fire and flexed her fingers, pausing and biting her bottom lip as she looked at it. "Temptin' t'toss a cup o' burnin' oil in there t'get it goin'..." she muttered disconsolately as she turned back to the fire to give it another jab with the poker, hoping to coax it into blazing. Sighing, the redh ead turned around and stood silhouetted by the flames and looked at her lover. He looked old. He looked worn. He looked like he needed a hug. Saoirse couldn't help the slight smile that curled her lips as she looked at his shaven head, his wrinkled brow and downturned lips. He had lost so much and not for the first time she wondered if she could return to him even some of that which he pained for the loss of. How dangerous would it be to return to Ireland and bring Aoife back? A babe in her arms as she travelled across the sea and then up the back bone of Britain to Badon... ? "Oh love..." she whispered as she started to walk across the room to him, her hand extended to touch his sad looking face but she only got two steps from the bed when there was a knock at the door. Saoirse paused and her fingers curled into her palm. She shut her blue eyes feeling an irrational surge of irritation at not being able to just be with Dagonet alone for very long. She opened her eyes and they were bright and flinty, shimmering with her trademark fire and temper. Licking her lips, the red head leaned down to brush her lips against Dagonet's lips briefly before going to the door, hauling it open and fixing the disturbers with a warning glare. Saoirse's eyebrows raised a little at the girl's oddly brief greeting and she looked at Linnette. The ill-temper in her blue eyes was somewhat quelled when she was faced once more with the 'what-might-have-beens' of their respective situations. The Irish woman pursed her lips and lowered her eyes. She gave a flightish smile and stepped back. "Dagonet." she alerted her lover to the presence of the two women, standing by the door, holdingit open for them. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 12:52 AM Post #17 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Mon Jan 05, 2009 3:45 pm Neeria Neeria continued to stare at the knight in front of her who seemed quite uncomfortable either because of her nakedness or from the heat in the warm bath room. He was blond with pristine blue eyes but Neeria couldn't tell if he a Briton. She doubted he was Sarmatian, but Roman perhaps. Neeve had referred to him as a knight though, hadn't she? how odd, a Roman knight? Neeria thought to herself. The woman sized him up quickly, taking mental inventory of the sword hanging securely on his hip and checking for any other visible weapons. He was larger than she, of course, but not as large as Artorius - about the same build as the dark one, she sumised. Neeria wondered what his temperment was and if he was as intruding and ominous as Lancelot. Involuntarily, she shuddered at the thought.
The man spoke her name and despite the situation, Neeria chuckled slightly. He obviously made a point to look directly into her eyes. What idiots! Neeria thought with a laugh. The natural state of being was common to her people and they thought very little of being nude in mixed company. Nakedness was not viewed as being lascivious or offensive, so the knight's reaction to her was quite unusual and quite funny. "Yes, that is what I am called," she replied. The added, "Does my nudity offend you, knight?" she asked him. She wasn't sure if he'd actually heard her or rather chose to ignore her. The blond simply cleared his throat and continued talking to the healer.
Neeria did laugh that time. "Have no worries, knight. I won't try to escape. However, you may certainly watch as closely as you like," she giggled. Neeve, as stern-faced as ever, just glowered at the woad. Neeria wondered if the woman ever smiled. After everything Neeria had endured in the past few days, the dark clouds over her were too heavy. She simply wanted to eat, sleep and think about what had happened to her since the attack. She just wanted to feel human again and wash the filth of the war off her. But Neeve's slight humor caught Neeria by surprise when the dark haired woman answered the knight's question.
Neeria leveled her dark eyes at the knight and laughed again as she turned around and stuck her toe into the warm water. She knew she was giving the knight a full view of her ample bottom. Neeria stifled another chuckle and walked down into the water, spreading her arms out as the water slowly rose and submerged her lower half. If there was a heaven, surely it was right there in the herb-rich bath waters of Badon Keep. When she was waist-deep inside the pool, the woad turned around in the water to face the others again and closed her eyes, rolling them to the top of her head as the comforting water began to soothe her sore feet and legs. Neeria stood there like that, suddenly oblivious to everything else around her.
Neeria snapped out of her reverie and smiled at Neeve, then dove, head first beneath the water's surface, her long dark hair fanning out behind her. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 12:56 AM Post #18 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Mon Jan 05, 2009 8:53 pm Tristan and Quintus
“I know the way,” Tristan muttered from a horse’s length behind the Woad rider, thoroughly annoyed by the man’s smugness and ease. A Woad didn’t have the right to sit so comfortably on a horse, damn it- no right to sit there with not the slightest nervousness on the animal’s back! Oh, Tristan was convinced that if they were to come down to it, he himself was the better rider, was capable of more little tricks and interesting moves while mounted- but that was all they were for the most part, tricks. This Woad, this Smith, was doing everything he needed to to keep his horse under his supreme control, and he was doing it without even tensing a muscle. He rode like…well, not like a Sarmatian, Tristan’s prickly pride would never permit him to admit that even were it true. But he rode, at the very least, like one of the more accomplished Romans. There, Tristan had admitted it. To himself, sort of. He clenched his teeth and looked away, sideways, his ears still open for all the little sounds around them, for the location of the Woads that even now, still invisibly, trailed their every move. No peace. No, they were not at peace at all. A soft hissing to his left accompanied a bright flare-up of orange light, and he settled his gaze momentarily on the Centurion, now trying with noticeable awkwardness to handle his reins in one hand and a lit torch in the other. Titrus and Jols were doing the same, the squire considerably more easily. Tristan turned his eyes from them again. Until it got totally dark, the scout preferred no artificial light at all. Fire tented to confuse, to dazzle if one looked at it too long. It could interfere with perception of other, more important details, and Tristan now looked determinedly away from the torches, concentrating on the path ahead and the woods to the side instead. His dark, dissatisfied gaze lingered on the Optio, who had so far shown no reaction to the outcome of the “negotiations”, so different from his own attempt and yet so unsuccessful anyway, and then on the broad, stiff back of Arthur, riding ahead even with Smith. Guinevere rode with him, though Tristan could not even see her from here behind them- but he could tell that Commander and Woad Princess were conversing in hushed tones as they rode. Tristan just hoped she wasn’t convincing him of anything, least of all her own or Merlin’s good intentions. The Woads clearly had none, and their Princess could not be an exception. The sooner their two groups separated, the better- and then the next time Tristan met a Woad, it would be in battle, and he could continue his ongoing, little-by-little revenge for Percival’s death. A revenge that would never be finished- for when had Tristan’s own suffering ever finished? The death of Percival had affected even things that it should not affect, most notably Einin. It had marked Tristan for life. Who could blame him if he tried to spread that mark around? Who could blame him even if it was futile, even if it availed not at all to heal his heart? The scout continued to eye his surroundings predatorially from behind his curtain of braided hair, mulling over his bitterness and trying to ignore the increasing numbness of the tips of his ears. Even the stone walls of Badon Keep sounded like a paradise of a shelter tonight. Linnette
“Is this time all right?” Linnette teetered a bit on the threshold of Dagonet and Saoirse’s room, made a bit wary by the initial glare on Saoirse’s face when she had opened the door. Now, however, the Irishwoman was stepping back and holding the door, making room for them to enter, and Linnette wobbled forward just once on her tiptoes, peering around the doorpost for a moment, before stepping the rest of the way inside. The room was truthfully not much warmer than the corridor, but there was a fire, and the atmosphere of the smaller space was different- closer, safer, more cozy. Linnette let out a breath, a band of tension easing in her chest as she came into sight of Dagonet lying on the bed. He was well-bundled up, as he should be…and tired. Very, very tired. But Linnette could see Gedeon’s face in his still, and the resemblance could only give her hope. A portrait was just around the corner, she was confident of it- and more than that, for the first time since her tragedy, she found that her dominant emotion upon seeing Dagonet was happiness. Not sadness, for what was lost, but gladness, for the fact that it was not entirely gone. Linnette flashed Dagonet a hopeful, eager smile, then turned back to Saoirse as that first, strongest burst of spontaneous feeling faded. With Saoirse, Linnette was more cautious, more reserved…more conscious of going astray in this suddenly-much-more complicated familial relationship. “I hope the baths were nice? I think it’s sometimes hard for them to keep them the right temperature when it’s this cold outside,” Linnette remarked, the polite, inconsequential conversation coming easily now that the Karl incident was fading in her mind. That had been disturbing, but it had turned out all right, and now things were much better, and this portrait could get started! Linnette had no intention of simply making idle conversation for long. “Well, anyway...Mari has paper and pencils, but I’m not sure what else she needs in order to draw…” Linnette cast her eyes around the room thoughtfully…more light, maybe? Unfortunately, Linnette didn’t spot any candles in immediate evidence, but she could bring some if it came to that. She turned and settled her gaze expectantly at Mari, raising her eyebrows questioningly, silently encouraging Mari to outline any further requirements. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 12:58 AM Post #19 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Tue Jan 06, 2009 9:33 am Derfel
Derfel was quite surprised by the woman’s openness…certainly NOT typical of any woman he’d ever met before. The knight was not offended – no…but he couldn’t bring himself to give Neeria an answer. Instead, he did his best to offer a polite and gentlemanly smile at the naked woman – a Woad and a prisoner here. But his blue eyes still avoided viewing all that she had to offer in her shapely womanly wiles. He then felt a hand on his shoulder and Derfel thankfully turned his attention to Neeve; his fingers flexed nervously behind his back as she spoke.
“We do,” Derfel readily agreed to Neeve’s proposal, quite thankful the healer seemed to comprehend his being uncomfortable watching over a naked woman while she bathed – prisoner or not. “…and I’m much obliged, m’lady.” Derfel reached up to smooth over his unruly hair in attempts to mask the depths of his nervousness. Neeria’s eyes were on him again and the Woad laughed again. And that only served to cause the flush in the knight’s cheeks to deepen. He was given the duty of guarding her…but how in the gods’ names was he going to do that with Neeria being so bold?? Mithras, help me here – I beg you. Luckily, Neeve snapped at the prisoner to urge the woman to get on with her bath….
“Wouldn’t want her to drown now would we?” Derfel spoke rather wryly out of the corner of his mouth quietly to Neeve as they both watched Neeria plunge into the bath waters. He was hinting to the fact that he knew Neeria had attacked Arthur earlier. And now the knight had no hesitation in following the naked woman’s movements…at least those big dark eyes were not focused on him now. He puffed out his cheeks and sighed at last. “Aye…I’ll just be over here then….and thanks again, luv,” Derfel offered a sheepish grin and a shrug of his shoulders to Neeve and then most gratefully took a step backwards until he as once again standing on the other side of the dividing curtain. His blue eyes remained focused on Neeve – who Derfel did not know well, but liked nonetheless. She was different than any healer the young knight had ever met. But in his thoughts was Linnesse….with luck she was feeling better and would not come upon this particular scene. By the gods. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 01:00 AM Post #20 |
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Author: Unicorn Date: Tue Jan 06, 2009 3:14 pm Dagonet Sarmatian knight felt not so good. But better than laying in the infirmary. He was in his own room, in his own bed, covered thightly in warm sheets and blankets. It felt better... He felt soothed here. His body laid calmly... He felt very tired, but in fact it was good, cause he could finally rest properly here. Without nurses runing around... without moans from other patients. Without everything. He closed his eyes with a little half-smile... He felt secure in his own room... with his lover taking care of him. It felt good.
He didn't answer to this, but opened his eyes and looked at her as she moved around the room and made fire a little bigger. When she turned, Dagonet watched her face. She was thinking about something... It was evident, that she could not make any decision... and just watched him with a little frown upon her face. Dagonet had to look terrible... weak and diminished.. But right now he didn't care, nobody else than her haven't seen that. And she was his lover, she was allowed and she had to know and see him as he was... not lies. A frown started to appear also on his face. A frown of worry, and sorrow... He still was thinking about Gedeon. Always thinking about him. When will it stop? When the hurt will deminish? And how?
She started to walk towards him and he was also about to say something, but a knock on the door disturbed them. Dagonet didn't look at the door as Saoirse went to open them. His eyes went closed with a little sigh. They couldn't be left alone for longer time. He needed her closer. He needed more peace. But he was not allowed to have it.
He looked up to see Saoirse holding the door for Linnette and Mari. Oh yes! The picture of Gedeon! He almost forgott about it and it brough a hit to his heart. He shouldn't forgott something like that!
But when Linnette smiled at him, the large knight could not help himself to answer her the same - with a small, very tired smile. He saw that hope in her face. He hoped that this will help her in any way... If anything could.
He swallowed roughly, imaging already how he will feel in a moment... under watchful eye of that young woman. He felt suddenly nervous, his eyes went to Mari... a little frown upon his face. He felt he couldn't do it. But he gave Linnette his word... he allowed this. He should not turn away, even if he felt not good about it. He looked back at Saoirse, a silent helpnesness in his eyes. He didn't want it. After a second his eyes went to Linnette and sent her a little more of his smile... "It was fine..." he whispered, making an effort to sit up a little in his bed.
Dagonet lowered his head listening to Linnette. His face stern. Linnette needs this! Stop thinking about how you feel about it! He cursed himself in mind. He looked up at Mari, with a question evident in his eyes. Did she need anything more? |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 01:01 AM Post #21 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Tue Jan 06, 2009 6:32 pm Ione and Vanora After she had eaten her soup and drank her tea, Ione nodded to the handsome Captain, laid some coin on the table and grabbed her cloak throwing it over her shoulders. Now that she had eaten, Ione felt a bit better. A good walk and good food. The weaver walked among the tables and chairs passing by the one with the drunken man (Karl). UGH! the smell of him assailed her nostrils and her stomach rebelled. He smelled like Mirtha: like wine, strong drink and sweat.... and horse? Ione turned to the man, and her stomach lurched again, "Oh, gods, I am so...." Ione's statement was cut off when she vomited all over the man. Vanora watched from where Malcus was and felt badly for Ione. Being around men who were drunk while she was pregnant was not a good thing, "Excuse me Malcus. I think I have a mess to clean up." As she moved toward Ione, the young woman puked again holding her stomach as she did so. When she had done, Ione wiped her mouth on a cloth that Vanora handed her, and she looked apologetically at the drunk, "So sorry sir... but you smelled so bad...." Ione could not move for a moment, then looked at Vanora, "Gods Vanora, I am so sorry..." What she had to do was remove herself from this man's table before he got it again.... |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 01:02 AM Post #22 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Tue Jan 06, 2009 7:43 pm Lancelot Thankfully, Lancelot managed to pay off a slave and had the man clear out the small side room he chose to make his ablutions in. He took up the oil and strigil himself, and after dismissing the nervous man with what had to be the most pathetic words he'd ever growled, Lancelot stripped his clothing off perfunctorily and sat heavily on one of the benches that lined the tiled room. The steam rose from the heated floor and the warm pool, and his eyes slid closed - finally - as he allowed his bone weary body to relax. He twitched a bit as his muscles released, and he clapped a hand unintentionally to his arm as his wound throbbed in time with his heart beat. He opened his eyes enough to peak under the bandages; shaking his head, he ripped them off and tossed them in the corner. Neeve could rewrap him as he'd done Arthur earlier. Arthur. Gods. Since Segedunum, things had been different. Lancelot had been different, and he...he wasn't sure if he liked that. He was one way most of the time, cold and steely and protected by blades, biting words, winking eyes, sharp teeth and a glass wall that hid his every emotion from all. All except one, and that one - that one was complicated and fucking driving him crazy. He didn't like to be unsure. He didn't like to not understand himself. He didn't like the idea of being angry with Darya for carrying Arthur's future within her womb - but - he was. He was angry at both of them for a kind of betrayal he couldn't put words to, and he needed to speak to Arthur about it...or go mad with the confusion. He would not do that to himself. He was Lancelot ap Ban, and he had been at one time Arthur Castus' most treasured knight, confidant, and yes, lover. By choice, all three. Power was a good thing in this type of servitude, but the third thing...that had not been forced nor coerced out of him. Lancelot had gone willingly to Arthur's bed - had possessed the other man because at the time, that was what had seemed right. Arthur was the control here at Badon, and for Lancelot to be the one in charge in their intimate situations...well, that was something he would never have outside of that arena. But it had been demeaning to Arthur the last time - get yourself another whore - and Lancelot, Lancelot had been ashamed of it. Ashamed that he'd made Arthur and himself feel like dirt poor tramps that had no worth other than the skin on their backs. Wait. He hadn't made Arthur feel like that, he'd made himself feel like that. And then Isolde...and being alone, in the dark, with shameful, embarassing, unmanly tears running down his face. Arthur was not one of those nameless, faceless soldiers that had found Lancelot after he'd been at Badon for a mere month, and had forced him to.... They were dead. That didn't matter anymore. And Lancelot, the more he thought and the more he grew angry, found he didn't want things with the only true friend he had to end up like trash. Arthur would listen to him, though, and they would not be back to the way they had been. They would be new, or by Hadrian's Balls, but the Sarmatian would give Arthur the fight he'd wanted to give him since first meeting the upstart, annoying, self-righteous and talented Roman. The only other man that had a distinct possibility to take Lancelot in a spar, and might be able to get a scratch in. "Bah!" He spat the word like it was the dirtiest curseword ever spoken, and poured oil over his filthy body, and, standing, scraped the muck off his skin like he was burning and he could only kill the heat with speed. He ran his slippery hands over his face and his hair, and unknown to him, mimicked the Woad woman Neeria as he stepped into the pool, shivered, and then dove in headfirst, gracefully. His dirty hair dripped down his neck and chin when he resurfaced, and he dunked himself again and again, scrubbing at his scalp, his face, and his body as he tried to get the dirt of what seemed like a thousand campaigns off his flesh. He thought dark thoughts and kept his eyes closed as he bathed, and did not allow his flow of consciousness to be interrupted by anything. At last, he rose out of the bath, and wrapped his lower body in a large piece of clean linen to dry. The brazier in the corner of the room was better than any campfire, and Lancelot rubbed at his hair until it stopped dripping and was passable for dry. He looked about, hoping someone had left spare clothing - he did not want to put his ridiculously too large leathers back on, and the tunic...it was his, but it was old and threadbare and he didn't want anything to do with his black things at the moment. Luckily the slave had set a pile of old but clean cream colored pants and shirt on a bench, and Lancelot dressed, not realizing his light garments gave him an innocent cast that belied his truth and his heart. Shaking his head, he gathered up his things and, toeing on his boots, he left the baths, passing by the door to the women's area, where he could hear Neeve and Derfel's voices. He ignored them; the Saxon knew what he had to do, and Lancelot was free of duty - including that of taking care of unknown and snippy 'royal' ladies from Jerusalem - so he turned in the direction of the infirmary, and went in search of Derfel's woman and her poultice. He figured even if she wasn't there, he could find something and get out, before Lavinia or one of the other healers caught him. He'd only see Neeve. And Arthur. And hopefully, that wouldn't be long now - one way or another. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 01:07 AM Post #23 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Wed Jan 07, 2009 11:38 am Ceinwyn and Guinevere The heat of Ceinwyn’s fingers curled into her dagger hilt. The Woad woman had watched the meeting with little intervention, and non-existant emotion. Her green eyes had looked out over the Ford, and sparkled with vehemence at Merlin’s arrival. Fickle words. The Roman Commander spoke stupid words, weak offerings...and Ceinwyn had wanted to laugh aloud. Rome’s days were numbered, and their clumsy hands were covered in blood. How long would they continue to fight for? How long would they pursue death? The Woad warrior stood strong against the cold weather, and did not speak a word. Not even a whisper. As the party turned on its heels, Ceinwyn chose to walk within the woods, alongside the Optio and his horse. She kept a distance, remaining in the trees but not bothering to conceal her presence. Her dark red hair tussled wildly around her shoulders, and the snow coated it with a pretty white. The strands were cleaner from it, and a speckled snowflake had mottled the paint on her chin. Her lips were full as she walked, formed in petulance and defiance, and her eyelashes were dusted with tiny snowflakes. They glittered against the backdrop of her green eyes, and blessed her lashes with a thicker lustre... A bird called out from amidst the undergrowth. It was a sharp sound, and echoed over the snow-covered earth. A chilly breeze blew through the trees, tussling their leaves and causing the snow to fall from each branch. It shook in light showers, and caught on the foliage below. The cold was no concern of Guinevere’s. The woman was a Woad, and had been born into the harsher climates. Her soft skin was warm despite the freezing conditions, and her lips grew coltish against the frost. Dark eyes glittered outwards towards British land, and the woman sighed against Arthur’s neck. She remained nestled between the tight muscles of the Roman’s thighs, but she was not distracted. No, it would take more than Roman heat to frighten her. She drew strength from their closeness, and somewhat enjoyed mocking his failed attempts at peace. Did he not understand yet? There could not be peace for them, not whilst Rome tainted British land and murdered British people. Guinevere of Briton sought peace too, but only once Rome had been chased far from these shores. She did not seek a truce, nor an allyship...rather the enemy’s riddance and British rulership. Her wish would be granted. One day. There would be more battle to come...before their peace was achieved...
Guinevere felt Arthur’s fingers tighten into the material of her dress, and she glanced down, seeminly unaffected by his possessive grasp. Her black eyes glittered against the approaching evening, the all-engulfing darkness, and she breathed a laugh against his dewy neck. The Woad could smell him, breathe him in. Her small nose touched against the sinews beneath his jaw, and her lips brushed the skin there. It was accidental, but she did not regret it. No, Guinevere knew her own powers of sexual prowess. She was a Woad Princess, and a handsome woman with a mind for war. Arthur knew that, and surely respected it. She continued to finger his cloak, and then spoke softly into his hot neck. “It is not within my power to offer you council, Artorius.” She spoke low, and smiled into his neck. A cold breeze flushed her pale cheeks to red, and her dark hair curled into the confines of Arthur’s cloak. The woman breathed a mist from her lips, and pressed her nose against his skin. She laughed. “But...should I have any advice to give you, I would say this. Follow my father’s advice. Take your men and leave these shores...or you will all die. It is that simple, Arthur.” She clipped his name with a cold growl, and turned to look ahead at their path. She saw Smith leading ahead, and was pleased. Roman failure made her happy.
The horses covered good ground. Their retreat back through the woodland allowed Guinevere a little time to gloat in Arthur’s failure, and perhaps...feel a little for the Roman. It was true, she did not dislike Arthur. She respected his word and conscience, and trusted him more than any enemy she had encountered. His conviction was passionate, and he spoke like a Briton. As Guinevere listened, she understood. A little. Arthur was not necessarily ruled by Roman rubbish and heresy, but rather...his own moral conditioning. The woman wondered if these two had ever clashed? Did Arthur’s conscience fall happily into Roman and Christian doctrine? Guinevere had heard of Pagans being burnt in the faraway lands, by Christian hands...and yet could Arthur have done such a thing? He asked a question. What did she long for? Guinevere turned back to the Roman, and dropped her hand from his thick cloak. A small frown decorated her pretty features, and she heard the murmer of his voice. “Your death is not what keeps me warm at night, Arthur, despite what you may believe.” Guinevere spoke thinly, and something flared in her gaze. Her face no longer sought the warmth of his jaw and neck, and she sat up straighter. Was she offended? Perhaps. His words were oddly accusing, and she shrugged her shoulders, speaking again. “I long for Peace. I long for fertile summers, the gods approval and compassion...and for my people to stop being slaughtered in their own land. That is my wish...” Guinevere’s tone grew quiet, almost dreamy, and she sighed. Arthur knew she was not completely barbaric and cold...but rather there was more to her hard words and demeanor. She was adept at disguising emotion in battle. She knew her duty to Briton, and to save their territory. The woman smiled sadly, and shook her head. “You think me cold? I am, but I am not hard. I am what I need to be.” She whispered. “Just like you...” The party came to an opening in the woodland, and Guinevere recognised it as their meeting point. The pattern of the trees was the same, only now masked with the shadow of night. The torches held cast flickering shadows to dance across the undergrowth, and it was an eerie light. “We leave you now.” She spoke firmly, loudly. Ceinwyn stopped dead in her tracks, and turned to look at Guinevere. Her gaze was hard, almost brutal...but the snowflakes betrayed her with prettiness. Her form was small in the trees, but her fiery hair was undeniable. The woman chose to move closer to the path, and came to stand close to the Optio. Her eyes glanced up at him lazily, and her full lips shaped a smile. It was a cold thing, and her eyes glittered with it. It was over. The meeting was a failed attempt at peace, and now Rome could retreat with its tail between its legs. The woman breathed a short laugh, and spoke up to the Optio. “Such a shame. I was just thinking how handsome you’d look with a cut throat.” Ceinwyn spoke with little emotion, and low enough for his ears only. There was a dying light in her eyes, and it called her green gaze into bitterness. She despised Rome. She lived to destroy it... Eyla Eyla loved a good challenge. Easy pursuit was definitely not the most exciting, and so Darya offered her something most patrons did not. Seduction was easy when your golden bosoms curved and pressed into your bodice, and when your lips pouted in sultry perfection. Eyla knew she was beautiful, and she drew confidence that no women looked like her. She was exotic. Her mother had been a British Lady’s maid, and her father a foreign stable hand. They said his skin was as dark as the night sky, and that he had eyes as black as a raven’s feathers. Poetic nonsense, of course. Eyla did not care what her father looked like, because her past was the past. Her mother had been a useless and self-pitying witch with no eye for ambition or progression, but her daughter? Eyla Attriabes’s wanted things, and she took them. She used her looks to prey on rich and handsome men, and furthered her own reputation among the wealthy. Eyla wanted pretty jewellery, and especially fancy silks to decorate her dresses with. She got these. Her patrons bestowed her little tokens of memory, because she encouraged the art of pleasure. She was not boring, nor troublesome. She was the exact opposite of a virtuous wife, and men liked that. They yearned for it. Just a tiny taste of excitement... Eyla eyed Darya with a critical and sympathetic gaze. Her eyes were liquid black as they slid down her thin form, and she tutted her tongue in distaste. Oh indeed, the dark Sarmatian was mysterious, enigmatic and quite beautiful...but she lacked feminine seduction. This was the key to happiness and male appreciation. The whore arched a sharp eyebrow at the other woman and lifted a finger to her lips, humming thoughtfully. The dress would have to go. It was not full enough in the skirts, nor showed any bosom at all. Boring. Modest. It screamed ‘nunnery’ and did not demand to be ripped off at the seams. The whore looked down at her own dress, and a smile formed on her feline mouth. Darya was not a lost cause, but she desperately needed change. It might erase that depressing frown of hers...hmm...
“Nothing but your lovely self,” Eyla pouted prettily. With a swish of skirts, she turned a circle in the Sarmatian’s room, and sought a towel. There was one thrown messily atop the bed, and she snatched it up with a light gasp of excitement. Her small fingers curled into the material, and she held it protectively to her bosom. She tilted her chin down, and breathed against it. Gods, but it did not smell pleasant. Did Darya not scent herself? Not ever? Eyla shook her head, and several dark tendrils of hair curled down her shoulders. As she moved, her bangles clanged loudly, and she turned towards the door. “Come then, let us seek the baths and put your beauty to rights. Sweet Virgin Mary and all her Whores...but it is well overdue!” Eyla almost sang the words, and left the room with a light skip. She moved like a dancer. Fluid, soft, rhythmic. Her hips swayed in tune to life, and her lashes batted lazily in perfection. “Come now, Darya, we have work to do, don’t we?” She turned to look over her shoulder, and blew the woman a kiss... This would be interesting! |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 05:53 PM Post #24 |
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Author: Darya Date: Wed Jan 07, 2009 12:23 pm Neeve
Neeve gave Derfel a wry grin. She did not know the Saxon that well, but so far he had given her no reason to get onto her ‘to ignore’-list…on the contrary, she honestly – yet secretly – appreciated his politeness and his dutifulness. Both sort of reminded her of Lucius…and were ever so different from what she had been used to with Markaad around. Well, the dark knight had had his own qualities… Anyway, the healer patted Derfel’s shoulder to once more confirm their deal… …but then focused on Neeria, who finally entered the water. Apparently she knew how to swim…
“Yeah…what a loss it would be…”, the raven-haired murmured with a hint of sarcasm in her rather deep voice and gave the Saxon a knowing glance. His words gave away that Lancelot had indeed told him why Neeria was a prisoner. “And you are welcome, Derfel. I will hold you to your guarding duty soon enough though…”, she then added and lowered her chin a little to glance at the knight from under her dark eyelashes, “…now off…behind the curtain you go or your bad conscious will kill you…” Neeve nodded towards the thick drapery and then turned away from the Saxon, whom she heard retreating only a moment later. With that, her focus was on Neeria again, who by now had completely submerged in the pool. The Briton idly scratched the back of her neck for a moment and wondered what to do now… Then she approached the bench closest to the pool and sat down, picking up another sponge on her way as she did so. Since the Woad had no idea what the little item could do, she would certainly have to show her how to use it. “Having fun?”, Neeve then asked Neeria and tilted her head slightly as she continued to watch the Woad woman enjoying the warm water around her… The healer was no woman of many words but she was determined to do what Arthur had ordered her to…thus she would continue to be as nice to the prisoner as she saw appropriate – meaning she would not try to inconspicuously get rid of her. But Neeria did not need to know that, right? After all, there still was the fact that she had attempted to kill Arthur, their Commander. Vanora might spoil her as much as she liked…but Neeve – and certainly Lancelot as well – would not show such open kindness to the Woad…unless ordered to… |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 05:55 PM Post #25 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Wed Jan 07, 2009 2:48 pm Saoirse and Mari Saoirse knew that Dagonet had agreed to this - but something inside of her was immensely uncomfortable about this. She was feeling obsessively protective of DAgonet right now - as if he weren't big and bullish enough to take care of himself. But on a more base and personal level he was a bit concerned that Linnette saw so much of a resemblance between her dead husband and Saoirse's living lover. That sickening feeling of being inadequate and just the wrong type of person for the Sarmatian began to rear it's ugly and self-deprecating head again.
The frivolity of the chit-chat made Saoirse blink. She glanced towards DAgonet and saw his pleading look. It broke her heart and she visibly slumped. Her blue eyes looked back to Linnette and she made an effort - turning her lips up in a smile though it never did reach her eyes.
It was good to hear him interject with something, giving Saoirse hope that he was truly fine with this idea of a drawing. She took a deep breath and gestured to a chair for Linnette, walking to sit by the window herself. "The water was just about right t'be honest. It'd be torturous fer it t'be too hot cause when ye'd go back out int' the weather y'd only feel the cold all the more." she commented lightly, placing her palms and on either side of her hips and sitting herself down on the window sill. The shutters were closed against the cold and for a moment the red-head just sat there before realising it was, actually, quite dark in teh room. "Feck it.." she murmured, pushing away from the window quickly and giving Mari a wry smile - "S'pose some light'd do ye good eh?" she asked with a joviality she did not truly feel. Saoirse went to the candelabrum on the table and took a candle out. Using the wick of that at the fire, she then lit the others before bringing the three-branched holder over to the bedside. Whilst there she reached a hand out and touched Dagonet's, placing the light down near the bed. She withdrew then, glancing over at Linnette - Mari was quite unaware of the dynamics in the relationships of the people before her. She stood quite awkwardly holding her tools against her chest and smiled blithely from person t person. Seeing the Sarmatian here in his small quarters made him seem all the bigger to the young woman. Her brown eye looked him up and down before giving him a tense smile. He looked at her questionningly and Mari just looked back at him. What did he want from her? She was not used to people asking her if she had everything she wanted or needed. Linnette made idle chat with the red head, Saoirse. Mari felt a strange kinship to Saoirse because it was she who had helped bury Adrianna when she had died. That was when the knights had been away on the mission when Dagonet was hurt, Mari presumed. She looked back at the knight and walked over closer to him. A small stool was placed at a nice spot for her to sit and begin a drawing. Saoirse commented on the lack of light and Mari gave a brief laugh at the manner in which the Irish woman referre to it. "I will just do a very quick sketch now and, with what you have told me of Gedeon, Linnette, I will attempt something when I go home this evening. I... I have never drawn something that isn't directly in front of me before. I'm not creative enough to do that so I beg you, please ... it might not... work." she said nervously, looking from face to face - from grey-green eyes to blue to hazel, she chewed her bottom lip and nodded her head. She turned to front again and took out a piece of paper and pencil and began to draw. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 05:57 PM Post #26 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Wed Jan 07, 2009 3:25 pm Arthur They rode on as willing companions sharing bodily warmth in an unspoken union – the Roman Commander with the blood of Britain coursing through his veins and the wondrous wintry warrior with the touch of an angel and eyes of soft earthen tones. Yet, such an incredibly implausible couple were they – Arthur and Guinevere. Although her warm breath on his neck and the subtle and soft brush of her nose at his jaw had the Commander contemplating something beyond his failed negotiations with Guinevere’s father. This ‘intimate’ ride was akin to a spell being cast upon him…soothing Arthur’s wounded pride and somehow placating his frustrations at the whole way of things. However, Artorius Castus was no fool and would not so easily fall prey to a woman’s charms…not tonight. But the small and genuine smile now in residence upon his chilled and chapped lips told another tale. Just ahead, they were escorted by an almost ghost-like figure that Arthur’s weary green eyes continued to follow unquestioningly. And the Commander held Smith’s rather gracious looking expression with confidence and even a hint of trust as the dark rider turned to address Arthur. The man was an enemy of the Roman Empire – but Arthur would show good will out of respect for tonight’s temporary truce with Merlin.
“And I shall trust you in your word,” Arthur answered evenly without acknowledgement of Tristan’s curt comment to the contrary. Of course the scout knew the way…but Arthur had agreed to Merlin’s terms and would comply as long as the Woads held up their end of the so called bargain. However, Arthur knew that Tristan could easily lead them back out of the depths of the frozen woodland if need be. From behind, Bors’ voice also caught Arthur’s ear…nothing more than the usual banter from the burly knight, thus no need for alarm there either. All else was quiet except for the soft sounds of their horses’ hooves crushing the fresh snow with each step and the eerie call of a bird here and there in the icy brambles surrounding their path.
“I am glad of that, Guinevere,” Arthur spoke softly and genuinely while allowing his hand covering her abdomen to gently but firmly press Guinevere tighter back against his chest – despite the fact that the woman had sat up straighter in his grip. The Commander turned his head enough to allow his stubbled chin to rest against the side of her head. Of course several fine strands of her hair immediately tangled in Arthur’s coarse beard. And he once again inhaled Guinevere’s earthly scent – that of winter berries, snow covered conifers and was that a hint of some flowery smell in her hair? Arthur smiled at that notion. Guinevere was much more an alluring woman than perhaps she realized even herself. Warrior, yes – but also a woman beneath her bravado and proud dark gaze. Yet it was not Guinevere’s gentle touch that Arthur longed to feel on his weathered and weary soul….
“Then I believe that we understand each other…my lady,” Arthur said. He then canted his head to find the shell of Guinevere’s chilled ear…and whispered with his heated breath. “I do not find you cold,” His lips brushed at her ear unintentionally… or not. Arthur’s hand slid a little further up Guinevere’s rib cage as it appeared that Smith was bringing the party to a halt now. They had reached the point where Arthur and his men had first come upon the Woads earlier today.
“Very well,” Arthur concurred as he gave a subtle tug at Casti’s reigns bringing the great white horse to a stop at the edge of the forest. Guinevere then without hesitation slipped from the Commander’s grip and gracefully retreated from her position in between Arthur’s muscular legs. He let her go of course…but offered a hand to assist her nonetheless. “Guinevere….I offer you my gratitude for your actions in my favor this day. May peace go with you…daughter of Merlin,” Arthur said with a slight nod of his head and then also giving Merlin’s man Smith the same courteous acknowledgement before motioning his men onward. Snow began to ominously fall again…big fat flakes appearing bright white in the reflections of the lit torches that several of the men held high. “Gentlemen….let us make haste to reach the fortress before the snow overtakes us,” Arthur called back to his men and then motioned for the Optio to ride at his side. The path was clear enough that the Commander could find his way now. His side twinged for the first time in a long while – or was it simply that Arthur was no longer comforted in his ride? One thing was for certain….Guinevere had enchanted him enough to distract the Commander from the pain of his humiliation. The much needed peace with Merlin was not reached. And Arthur suspected a grim dawn on the morrow. ….but Guinevere’s scent seemed to persist with each breath that Arthur took. And as the snow began to fall in thicker concentrations from the gloomy skies above, sticking to Arthur’s dark curly hair and coating his crimson cloak as he rode, the welcoming site of the rush lights of Badon Keep came into view like beacons of hope in the pitch of night. Home. And all that Arthur longed to do – desperately so – was to reach solitude so that he might pray to God for His forgiveness…Arthur had failed today….and his sins seemed to be burning at his insides….he must speak with God before finding any rest yet tonight. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:02 PM Post #27 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Wed Jan 07, 2009 6:01 pm Smith and Amadeus
Smith smirked. It was a broad and beautiful sight on his handsome face. He glanced over his shoulder with an amused glint in his dark eyes. He had not seen who had uttered the surly words but he knew, he just knew who it was in his bones! And it amused him greatly that such a quiet man chose now to speak - and chose his statement of all to respond to. Smith looked at the tattooed Sarmatian and very nearly snickered in odd amusement but managed to hold his humour at bay a while longer. He turned forward once more and clucked his tongue to Scáth, turning out into the clearing where they had encountered the Romans earlier. The Woad scout turned his horse slowly to face Arthur and his men, leaning forward smoothly in his saddle, resting his elbow against the small saddle he favoured and watched as Arthur allowed Guinevere to dismount. Ceinwyn was standing close to the Optio and Smith narrowed his brown eyes as she leaned in to speak to the Roman. It was strange that she spoke to anyone at all, most of all that it was to the sharp-nosed Optio. Smith found his curiosity piqued and narrowed his eyes at them a moment before turning his clear, lazy gaze back to Guinevere and Arthur. Amadeus carefully led his horse into the clearing they had first encountered the woads. He glanced over at the mounted woad who had led them there and then sniffed, looking away from him. He was aware of woads around them - all around them on every branch and leaf probably, but he was not aware that any were giving him any special attention.
Thank God. Amadeus thought to himself glumly. He lifted a hand to scratch the side of his neck, waiting on Arthur to get the woad bitch off his horse when he did become aware of one of the woads paying attention to him. His grey eyes canted down to the savage beauty by his side and he frowned in puzzlement at her upturned face. She might have been pretty under that grime... She smiled. Amadeus felt his spine turn to ice under the shadow of that smile.
Her words did not shock Amadeus. In fact - they quite pleased him. The Optio had known that these people were a savage race - he knew they were lewd, barbaric and cursed - to be scorned by them was nothing to be ashamed of. Even if it was a young, potentially pretty woman that did the scorning. His eyebrows lifted marginally and noe side of his mouth quirked in a smile. Arthur was speaking farewell to Guinevere and made to ride forward. Amadeus leaned down from his saddle a little, looking smirkingly at the wild woad by his side, his dark hair dappled with snowflakes, his pale skin reddened about his cheeks from the cold as he spoke - "Come to Badon at any time and ask for me personally, sweetness, should you ever find the courage to attempt it. Amadeus Scipio." he spoke his name to her in a hissed whisper, his grey eyes sparkling with challenge as he kicked his horse forward after Arthur without allowing time for the wretch to answer. He glanced over his shoulder at her and gave a snort of laughter to himself. Arthur gestured forward for him and Amadeus did as he was bid, leaning forward in his saddle to try and use his horse's head as a breaker from the cold, snowy wind that was starting to blow. The Optio looked over at Arthur silently and wondered what the man was thinking, wondering if he was cringing inside, wondering if perhaps the Commander might take him aside and explain why the negotiations had failed. He also wondered mildly if Arthur might apologise to his Optio for thinking that he could do a better job of this negotiation when obviously he had not. Amadeus shrugged and dipped his head lower, his horse's mane whipping against his face, stinging on occassion but at least he was not being slathered with mulchy snow.
Smith closed his eyes and nodded his head in acknowledgement of Arthur's nod. He knew he shouldn't do so - but he did find himself quite liking Arthur. The Roman had not hissed and spit when Merlin had so calmly rejected the offer of truce. He had taken it like a man, he had taken it like a Briton, Smith thought amusedly. He shifted his black horse sideways, glancing over to the Optio and Ceinwyn once more. Arthur and his men started forward - already at a brisk pace before they had even passed Smith. The woad scout watched them go and then glanced back at Guinevere questionningly, waiting for her direction on what he should do - follow Arthur until he left their forest or return to bury the dead as they had been bid to do at first. "Guinevere..." he spoke to gain her attention, tilting his head to one side calmly.
Amadeus needed no more encouragement than that. He dug his heels into his horses' flanks and the beast surged forward, battering along the worn path towards Badon Hill. It seemed no time before the looming fortress was visible - first as a speckle of shimmering orange light that promised heat adn sustenance. It grew larger and larger, noises and sounds reaching the riders now. The night had broken darkly around them, the snow whirling in stark contrast, by the time they came bounding towards the large, wooden gates at Hadrian's Wall. They creaked open slowly and the riders came through at a thunderous pace. They did not relent however, continuing their stern gallop until they were at the gates of Badon Keep itelf. The Optio was at the front then but pulled back reluctantly to ride next to Arthur. They slowed as they approached the gates - a guard called out a greeting and a host of squire came forward as Amadeus and the Commander and riders entered the courtyard. Without thinking Amadeus looked around for Rowan or Wybert and it took a long moment for him to recall that they were dead. He frowned at that - his mind drifting to the wild red-head for some reason. She had nothing in common with Rowan except hair color. "Home." Amadeus spoke the word with relief. Home in more ways than one to him for he knew that Rome would see fit to place him in charge of this keep once Arthur's failures had become apparent. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:04 PM Post #28 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Wed Jan 07, 2009 7:58 pm Lancelot The infirmary was upon him almost too quickly, and Lancelot, carrying his coat and leathers despite the chill in the wintery sky - evening was there, after all - practically ran up the steps and pushed open the door to the large building. The foyer was quiet, and he stuck his head into a few of the work rooms, noting one that smelt of herbs and spices, before snagging a passing nun - not Lavinia, thank the gods - and asking her where to find Linnesse. The woman pointed toward the main room, and scurried off like the black and white mice that Lancelot saw around the stables. He shook his head, and continued on, his hair slowly drying and curling around his face in messy whorls as the air played with it. Narrowing his eyes, he ignored the pain the gesture caused and was about to start yelling for the woman when he saw her, delivering food and looking as innocent and sweet as the day had been long. Why in the world did she put up with Derfel in the first place? "Miss," he said as he approached her, catching her sleeve with his long fingers. "I hope you made up that poultice; I am sore in need of rest and would like to get to my...bed...before long. I am sure your mighty husband won't mind if I pick up the herbs myself." He smiled blankly, and waited for her to either tell him no, or to go get the thing. He did not care one way or another really, but...any help for his bruise would be fine. Less for Arthur to complain about when he got back. If he got back. Lancelot shifted from foot to foot, and hope the pretty woman had his things ready - but if not, he was on the way out the door regardless. It was past time for him to be alone, and past time for him to get some quality rest for once in his damnable life. One more night...and he'd go after Arthur himself. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:05 PM Post #29 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Wed Jan 07, 2009 9:31 pm Linnette
“Truly, Mari, anything you can do will be wonderful,” Linnette replied fervently, gratitude suffusing her as she watched Mari sit down and begin sketching without further ado. Bless the girl…what would she do without her? How would this be possible at all if she had not run into the girl this morning, sketching idly on the bench in the cold of the courtyard? Feeling a nervous flutter in her stomach, senseless at it was, Linnette perched on the edge of the chair that Saoirse had indicated, watching Mari intently. The small, close movements of the pencil…the growing dark lines on the paper, which she could not see properly from here…Saoirse waiting on the windowsill and Dagonet frowning slightly from the bed, Gedeon’s features seeming to leap out at her from the candlelit planes of his face…it was finally happening! Her drawing was taking shape! But so slowly! Oh, she couldn’t complain of Mari’s speed- she was just impatient, that was all. Not that she wanted to appear that way. Still, though, Linnette felt squirmy and useless sitting in the chair. She stood up and started towards the window, then realized that she couldn’t look out it without being practically in Saoirse’s lap, and gave the other woman a small, awkward, apologetic smile before changing course and taking a couple of paces in the direction of the door instead, then back around. She crossed her arms in front of her, around the book, then unfolded them again. Nothing to do but watch. Nothing to listen to but the scratch of Mari’s pencil, for she had nothing to say- she was all focused on the drawing, but unable to actually do anything about it! Well, maybe…Linnette frowned over Mari’s shoulder for a moment, without getting too close, then shifted her gaze from the oval face taking shape to the table, where Mari had set down her extra scraps. Going over to them, she picked up the small sheaf and riffled through them, until she came up with the one she had half-glimpsed before- one of a man standing against what appeared to be the training ground fence. He was no one she knew, one of the soldiers’ she supposed, but… “His hair was rather like this one- a bit shorter, but very similar. Oh, and dark, of course. But the cut is right. He…” Linnette realized belatedly that she shouldn’t be bothering Mari with extraneous comments now, and guiltily set the scrap back on the top of the pile, fastidiously weighting the stack with a dagger sheath that happened to be lying there. “I’ll just, er…set that there…sorry…” Linnette retreated back towards the chair, but remained standing, disinclined to sit. She edged her gaze over to Saoirse again, then to Dagonet. They both looked ill at ease, and eager as she was, Linnette suddenly felt regret for bothering them. “We’ll finish this quickly and then leave you to rest,” she blurted in an uncomfortable near-whisper. They both needed rest, and probably time alone together too, for they were now spending the first night in their own quarters since Dagonet had been released from the infirmary. She, and Mari, were intruders. Intruders with the best of reasons, yes, but intruders. And it was not Dagonet nor Saoirse’s fault that they still had each other while Linnette had only a cold, empty bed to go home to. “Sorry,” she repeated, trying to look at Saoirse- and failing. Her gaze slid away, dropped to the floor, and she crossed her arms tighter and stood like a stature, holding it all in. Gedeon’s face burned as an image in her mind, as if she could push it onto Mari’s paper by the sheer force of her thoughts- but she shed no tears this time. Maybe later- but not now. Not now. She wanted no more awkward sympathy now, no more crying, just to finish this. To know that it was done, and then to give privacy to those who needed it. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:06 PM Post #30 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Wed Jan 07, 2009 9:54 pm Neeria Neeria splashed around in the water like a small child. She grabbed the juices and lotions on the side of the pool and poured them liberally on her head. The woad scrubbed her head viciously, digging and scratching at her scalp, loosing the dirt, grime, twigs and such from her long dark hair. Then she submerged again, rinsing it all away. When she resurfaced again, she smiled at Neeve who had taken a seat on one of the long benches and was watching her. Apparently, the Roman knight was on the other side of the curtain. Neeria chuckled at his discomfort.
"Yes! I am!" Neeria yelled at her, completely ignoring Neeve's sarcastic tone. "You should join me, healer! The water is beautiful," the woad added, oblivious to her improper use of the word. Neeria grabbed the sponge next, that lay next to the juices, and looked at Neeve. It was pretty obvious what she should do with it so she began to scrub her body. The sensation was wonderful and she sighed with pleasure. The sponge made Neeria's skin tingle and come alive again. The woad removed her bandage and threw it on the side of the pool. The warm water stung her injured side and she grimaced. The healer had mentioned that the water would help heal her side. Neeria looked at the injury and had to admit that whatever Neeve had done was working well. The injury looked much better than it had just hours before. After scrubbing thoroughly and rinsing, Neeria walked out of the water leaving a thin film of grime on the water's surface behind. She grabbed a handful of hair and wrung it out tightly as she walked the short distance over to the bench where Neeve sat. The woad grabbed the towel and began to dry herself, happy at being clean. "I would like to do this again, maybe," she said, knowing that it would be improbable that she do so. Neeria had no idea what would happen to her. For a fleeting moment, Merlin and the others crossed her mind again and the guilt pounded her in the stomach with a mighty force. She wondered how the meeting was going between Arthur and Merlin. Neeria pushed the thoughts away. When she finished drying, Neeria pulled the long frock Vanora had given her, the stockings and doe-skinned boots. The dress was too big, but not so big that it would fall off. It felt good just to have clean clothes on and Neeria was thankful. She ran her fingers through her still-wet hair and then looked to Neeve. "Now can we eat?" she asked Neeve, wide-eyed and hopeful. She moved to the curtain and pulled it back to see the blond knight standing there, waiting patiently. |
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