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January 2009
Topic Started: Jun 3 2010, 01:14 PM (1,515 Views)
golden_trillium

Admin
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.

Linnette
 
“Sorry about that, We’ll go to Dagonet and Saoirse’s,
shall we? They should be done bathing by now. Oh…here
are your drawings,”


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

Admin
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.

Derfel
 
“Neeria"


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.

Derfel
 
“Uh…yes,…he said I should keep close eye on her for now.
Arthur’s orders. You are goin’ to see to it that she
cleans up and gets dressed before I….I watch her…right?”


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.

Neeve
 
“To be honest, it was not my intention…but since I do
not want to risk your breathing to stop or your blush to
get any worse, I will see to it, yes. Just do me a
favour…and wait just on the other side of the curtain.
Do we have a deal, Sir Knight? Well? What are you
waiting for? But before you go in there…”


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.

Neeve
 
Please tell me you can swim!?”


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

Admin
Author: golden_trillium
Date: Mon Jan 05, 2009 8:53 pm
Tristan and Quintus


Smith
 
”You need not fear I will lead you astray.”


“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

Mari
 
"Oh, thank you...thank you –oh, hi."


Saoirse
 
”Dagonet.”


“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

Admin
Author: Elessars Girl
Date: Tue Jan 06, 2009 9:33 am
Derfel


Neeria
 
"Does my nudity offend you, knight? Have no worries,
knight. I won't try to escape. However, you may
certainly watch as closely as you like,"


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.

Neeve
 
“To be honest, it was not my intention…but since I do
not want to risk your breathing to stop or your blush to
get any worse, I will see to it, yes. Just do me a
favour…and wait just on the other side of the curtain.
Do we have a deal, Sir Knight?”


“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….

Neeve
 
“Well? What are you waiting for? But before you go in
there...please tell me you can swim!?”


“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

Admin
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.

Saoirse
 
"Temptin' t'toss a cup o' burnin' oil in there t'get it
goin'..."


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?

Saoirse
 
"Oh love..."


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.

Saoirse
 
"Dagonet."


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!

Linnette
 
“Is this time all right?”


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.

Linnette
 
“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,”


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.

Linnette
 
“Well, anyway...Mari has paper and pencils, but I’m not
sure what else she needs in order to draw…”


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

Admin
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

Admin
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

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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...

Arthur
 
”Oh? And what would be your council, hm?”


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.

Arthur
 
”Guinevere...you need not convince me of your father’s
merits. He must do what he must to protect those in his
charge – same as I, too, must follow my conscience and
remain steadfast in my duty to protect those in my
care.What do you long for? Do you lie awake at night
imagining your knife at my throat?”


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...

Darya
 
“Good…a bath for sure is the best way to end a day
anyway. Anything we need to do or fetch before that?”


“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

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Author: Darya
Date: Wed Jan 07, 2009 12:23 pm
Neeve


Derfel
 
“We do,…and I’m much obliged, m’lady.”


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…

Derfel
 
“Wouldn’t want her to drown now would we? Aye…I’ll just
be over here then….and thanks again, luv,”


“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

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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.

Linnette
 
“Is this time all right? 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, Well,
anyway...Mari has paper and pencils, but I’m not sure
what else she needs in order to draw…”


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.

Dagonet
 
"It was fine..."


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

Admin
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.

Smith
 
”You need not fear I will lead you astray.”


Tristan
 
“I know the way,”


“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.

Guinevere
 
“Your death is not what keeps me warm at night, Arthur,
despite what you may believe.”


“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….

Guinevere
 
“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….You think me cold? I am, but I am not hard. I am
what I need to be. Just like you...”


“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.

Guinevere
 
“We leave you now.”


“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

Admin
Author: Pinkie
Date: Wed Jan 07, 2009 6:01 pm
Smith and Amadeus


Tristan
 
“I know the way,”


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.

Guinevere
 
”We leave you now.”


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.

Ceinwyn
 
“Such a shame. I was just thinking how handsome you’d
look with a cut throat.”


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.

Arthur
 
“Guinevere….I offer you my gratitude for your actions in
my favor this day. May peace go with you…daughter of
Merlin,”


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.

Arthur
 
“Gentlemen….let us make haste to reach the fortress
before the snow overtakes us,”


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

Admin
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

Admin
Author: golden_trillium
Date: Wed Jan 07, 2009 9:31 pm
Linnette


Saoirse
 
"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. Feck it…s'pose some light'd do ye good eh?"


Mari
 
"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."


“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

Admin
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.

Neeve
 
“Having fun?”


"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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