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January 2009
Topic Started: Jun 3 2010, 01:14 PM (1,514 Views)
golden_trillium

Admin
Author: lady ione
Date: Wed Jan 07, 2009 10:00 pm
Brendyn


Brendyn moved Tyranus along the trail close in the group next
to Titrus and Bors with Quintus nearby as well.

This whole mission seemed to have passed like one very fast
dream.

A dream that had held adventure and danger.

The snow mixed with the branches and frozen dirt crunched
under Tyranus's hooves, and a bit of wind caught Brendyn's red
cloak swirling it about him. His eyes watched with curiosity
at the silent conversation between Guinevere and Arthur. He
did not want to know what was said as it was really none of
his business, though the Commander and the woad had softly
talked since leaving the meeting with Merlin. Well, nothing
like keeping up those good relations with the enemy. 'Actually
Bors, that drink is sounding better and better... do they
serve meade in the tavern? Those are good hot drinks..." He
gave Bors a smile, then he turned his head and yawned again.
"God above, but I am tired..." He was ready to say more to the
knight, but then heard the lovely female woad's voice rise
from the silence....

Guinevere
 
“We leave you now.”


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


Brendyn had been so intent on watching Guinevere slide down
from Arthur's horse that he had not noticed that it was
snowing a good clip. Tyranus shook his head as flakes landed
on his black mane and coat. Brendyn reminded himself to give
the horse a bucket of oaTs and water when they got back to the
fort. The light from the torches made those standing about
them look like ghostly shadows and now Guinevere and the rider
had joined them...

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


... Brendyn looked over at Quintus, Titrus and Bors, and said
with a smile, then another yawn as his lack of sleep began to
show, "I can almost taste that hot stew with the tankard of
meade and then a warm bed..." And evening prayer... In truth
he had no idea what duties awaited him back at the fort, but
it was good to think positive for a day off to explore the
fort and get to know some of the people therein. Snow began to
fall in profusion about the group, and after Arthur urged his
horse ahead as had the others, Brendyn kicked the sides of Tyranus's flanks and urged him to follow the rest, all of them galloping at a good clip. Tyranus's hooves hit the ground in a thunderous rythem like a drum beat. Everything seemed blurred except for the torch lights of the fort fastly approaching. Snow and wind assailed the riders: the flakes swirling in and around the riders. As they approached the gates, it always filled Brendyn with awe and pride when he saw the massive gates open... the way the guards greeted them as they rode through them. He slowed Tyranus down as they entered the main keep of the fort, and then left the horse walk to the courtyard with the rest of them until the group came to a stop.

This time Brendyn would dismount after Arthur had
dismounted...
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Unicorn
Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 2:30 am
Dagonet


Dagonet knew that Saoirse caught his look, but there was
nothing to be done about how he felt right now. He allowed
this to happen... He felt nervous about it... The situation
was breaking his heart in reality. The world pushed them into
this. Into the moment that he became a model for the portrait
of his dead son. He felt sorrow rising in his heart again. And
worst of it was that he didn't feel like a good model. He was
tired... hurt... and.. and..old - nothing that Gedeon was. He
was always cheerful, full of life... not so reserved like him.

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?"


His eyes were longer upon Mari as the young woman seemed
somehow out of place... nervous. Just like him. And feeling
that from her Dagonet gave her a little smile. He didn't want
to feel so uncomfortable around him... This all might help
Linnette and he promised himself to hepl her in anything. To
ease somehow her sorrow, and the woman felt exicted about it.
It was plainly visible that she needed this to work out.
So Dagonet will quietly allow it. Even if he didn't want it.

Saoirse came closer to his bed to put more light in the room
and her hand touched his. Dagonet swallowed harder but drawn
some of the strenght from this touch. It was comforting.

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."


The tall knight looked into her eyes and slowly nodded his
head. He understood that... but does Linnette had?

Linnette
 
“Truly, Mari, anything you can do will be wonderful,”


As Mari started to sketch Dagonet stilled his movements... He
felt awkward and strange. He didn't know how he should look
like, what expression should he have on his face. His heart
beated harder. He felt nervous, so a frown appeared on his
face... Gedeon had rarely frown! He wanted to change that
expression but he could not. He could not see what Mari was
drawing, so it made him more nervous about it.

Instead of looking then a tMari and movements of her pencil
Dagonet looked at Linnette, who seemed to wonder about the
room too excited to do anything... sit or stand in one place.
Dagonet followed her by his eyes, feeling his frown
disappearing... He hoped that this idea will help Linnette
anyway... He had agreed only for her. His eyes went again to
Mari... her eyes meeting his brefly. There were some lines on
the paper, but Dagonet could not see them properly. He cleared
his throat just to breake the silence that started to bother
him.

Linnette
 
“His hair was rather like this one- a bit shorter, but
very similar. Oh, and dark, of course. But the cut is
right. He… ”


He looked back at Linnette as she wanted to say something
more... she wanted this picture perfect and Dagonet feared
what will happen if the drawing won't be enough for her.

Linnette
 
I’ll just, er…set that there…sorry… We’ll finish this
quickly and then leave you to rest, Sorry,”


Dagonet knew she was nervous and that was something more going
on in her head. He was observing her for a moment and his
heart torn in pain and sympthaty for her.

"Linnette..." he whispered to have her attention. "Stop
apologizing. I agreed to help." he reminded her and gave her a
little smile.

But inside he felt bad.. he didn't want this, he didn't need
this. It hurted to think about this situation. It hurted to
think of Gedeon... and now his heart was chained down by this
hurt, like a wild animal trapped in a cage.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Elessars Girl
Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 11:13 am
Derfel


Neeve
 
“Yeah…what a loss it would be…and you are welcome,
Derfel. I will hold you to your guarding duty soon
enough though……now off…behind the curtain you go or your
bad conscious will kill you…”


Derfel snorted a small laugh and of course blushed a bit more
as he stepped backwards until he was safely out of sight of
the womens section of the baths. The young knight srubbed a
hand over his stubbled face and sighed as he leaned back
against the wall to wait. He could use a bath himself – but he
reckoned that would have to wait. Duty first. Derfel arched a
single eyebrow in the direction of the male side of the baths
and briefly pondered whether or not Lancelot was still around.
Not that he wanted to casually consort with the dark knight –
just well…Derfel shook his head at his own thoughts as his
fingers lazily tapped on the stony wall at his back. He could
hear the women on the other side of the thick curtain and
turned his thoughts to his given assignment – guard the Woad
woman.

Neeve
 
“Having fun?”


Neeria
 
"Yes! I am! You should join me, healer! The water is
beautiful,"


Was this the first time the Woad had seen a Roman bath? Oh
most definitely. Derfel reflected back on the first time he
had been allowed to make use of the baths at the Villa
Rosarium….he had spent hours just quietly soaking in the warm
waters…mesmerized at how his skin wrinkled and softened in the
luscious bath waters. He could hear the patter of soft wet
feet on stone as Neeria must have stepped from the pool….and
Derfel’s mind then returned to his duty – he was not sure how
to treat this Neeria. She had tried to kill Arthur and so the
knight should despise her for certain. But she seemed so
innocent and child-like just now…it was a conundrum for sure.

Neeria
 
"Now can we eat?"


Food would be good.

Derfel instantly straightened his posture and shoved off from
where he’d been reclining against the wall the moment the
curtain was jerked open. And luckily what his blue eyes found
was a ‘dressed’ Woad – as opposed to a naked woman. Praise to
Bel.

“She has not been fed yet tonight?” Derfel looked to Neeve
with a furrowed brow and questioning tone. Was he to buy this
prisoner a meal too? Great. He rested both hands on his hips;
brushing the flaps of his overcoat back to expose his forrest
brown tunic and leather swordbelt tooled with a few Celtic
markings that matched the eloquent designs on the hilt of his
sword. Until he had acquired his father’s great sword and
jewelry recently, Hywelbane had been Derfel’s only opulent
possession.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Darya
Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 1:26 pm

Darya


It felt odd to be assessed. And that was exactly what Eyla was
doing openly right now. Assessing her. When the whore arched
an eyebrow, Darya automatically mimicked the small gesture and
tried to let her own gaze follow Eyla’s… To her, nothing was
that terribly wrong with her and the dress she was wearing…but
it became more and more obvious with every moment that the
other woman did not share this opinion. Well, at least Eyla
had confirmed that she was no lost course. That was a start,
was it not?

“If I interpret the way you are looking at me correctly, there
is not much…maybe nothing…that you have not changed already…in
your mind…”, Darya mused and briefly twisted her mouth
awkwardly, “…right?”

Eyla
 
“Nothing but your lovely self. 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! Come
now, Darya, we have work to do, don’t we?”


The dark Sarmatian cocked her head and watched Eyla more or
less dance out of her room…obviously quite eager to start
dealing with her latest challenge. Darya herself hesitated for
a moment… It might look like an odd decision to others that
she had decided to trust Eyla of all people to help her change
something in her life; but to her it made sense…at least at
the moment. The other woman was beautiful, seemed to be happy
and apparently had no problem to approach others in a positive
manner. Perhaps all this came with her…job…yet Darya assumed
that it might at least partly also just be her natural self.
Either way, it would hopefully only help the Sarmatian to
break out of her loneliness and little traumatized world…

Taking a deep breath, the dark-haired straightened her back
and followed Eyla out of her room, closing the door behind her
as she did so. “Let’s go then…”, she addressed the whore and
the two women walked through the corridors, heading for the
building’s exit. “Tell me a bit about you, Eyla…”, the
Sarmatian then asked the other dark-haired and glanced
sideways at her, “…just…a few things to get to know you
better…” And she meant it. After all, Darya was about to be so
daring to partly give herself into Eyla’s hands…at least as
far as her definition of what she wanted to learn from the
whore went. And knowing a bit more about the smaller woman
would for sure help her to do just that.

Soon the two women reached the exit and stepped outside. It
was dark by now. Evening. Where had the day gone? And would
Arthur return tonight? Briefly, the Sarmatian shifted her dark
gaze into the direction she knew the main gate was, hoping
that the Commander was alright and successful with his
mission. For his…for everyone’s sanity. The last attacks had
left marks on Badon and its people…and the harsh winter was
not making this any better. Pursing her lips in thought, Darya
brushed a strand of dark hair out of her face and almost
automatically veered toward the bath-house…









Neeve

Neeria once more acted like a child once she had conquered the
pool and apparently forgot everything around her. If she
weren’t a Woad and a prisoner, her behavior would perhaps even
be cute…but in the current situation, Neeve could only lower
her crystal-blue gaze and shake her head slightly to herself.

Neeria
 
"Yes! I am! You should join me, healer! The water is
beautiful,"


The raven-haired breathed a laugh. “Thanks…but no, thanks…”,
she said and sat up a bit straighter when the Woad seemed to
finish with her bath. To the healer’s surprise, she did not
have to explain the use of the sponge to Neeria…even though
the other woman had looked as if she had never seen the item
before only moments ago. Well, not that Neeve would have been
too keen on showing the prisoner the use of the sponge anyway…
Instead, she discretely watched the Woad drying herself. So
Woads did know towels. She had never been sure about that…

Neeria
 
"I would like to do this again, maybe. Now can we eat?"


Derfel
 
“She has not been fed yet tonight?”


Before Neeve even had the chance to react to Neeria’s wish to
take a bath again later, the Woad was dressed and already
moved towards the dividing curtain, pulled it open and
therewith brought Derfel back into the scene.

Take a bath again. Did she honestly expect to stay at Badon
forever??? Neeve’s eyes narrowed on their own accord as she
was not happy about this thought…idea… Woads belonged in the
forest. Even Woads wearing a dress did… However, the healer
just skipped the second bath issue and focused on Neeria’s
other question instead. The Woad had eaten A LOT around
midday…how was it possible that she was hungry again already?
The Briton stood from the bench and walked over to Derfel and
Neeria with both her hands resting firmly on her hips.

“Oh she has been fed…thoroughly…earlier today…”, she then
answered Derfel’s question, “…but apparently, Woads eat a
lot…” Neeve raked a hand through her short hair…and had to
admit that by now she was hungry, too. After all, she had not
eaten anything at all today. So far. “So I assume our next
destination is the tavern…again…”, she added and glanced from
the Saxon to Neeria and back. “Are you hungry, too?”, the
healer asked Derfel and subtly gestured for him and Neeria to
move so that they could exit the bath-house again…
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: TwistOfShadows
Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 3:15 pm
Guinevere and Ceinwyn


What did Guinevere desire? Many things, and all were portrayed
in this cold and unforgiving Winter. Guinevere suited the
natural beauty of Nature. The cold breezes caressed her dark
hair softly, and flushed her cheeks to red. The snow-covered
ground reflected in her dark eyes, and the snowflakes
glittered on her eyelashes. Her lips were full, pouted in both
reflection and petulance. Arthur’s hot presence had warmed her
very soul, and their conversations had been hushed, intimate.
She trusted the enemy Roman, and respected his efforts. Arthur
was not barbaric, nor cruel...and so Guinevere allowed him
moments of friendship, peace. Indeed, she hated those he kept
in company. They were nothing, mere players in a large and
dangerous game...and now Arthur had failed in his
peace.Guinevere was not sorry, but nor was she pleased. She
kept a vigil for peace, and prayed to the gods for its coming.
Briton would be free again, and not tainted by Roman touch.
There would be fertile lands, beautifully long summers, and
Pagans would roam freely within their own territory, unafraid
of murder or greedy soldiers. Peace was Guinevere’s Hope, and
Briton was Guinevere’s Love.

Arthur’s hand tightened against her abdomen, and Guinevere
glanced down at it. Her dark brows lifted, and a small smile
lingered upon her mouth. They were a strange couple. Two
warring peoples, and yet here they sat, finding solace in
eachother’s warmth. The Woad breathed in gently through her
nose, and sighed. The woodland was beautiful today. The snow
blessed it with an enigmatic and myserious aura, and Guinevere
drew strangth from it. She fought for this land, this
beauty...

Arthur
 
“Then I believe that we understand each other…my lady. I
do not find you cold,”


Cold?

It was such a strange notion, and Guinevere smiled still. She
felt Arthur’s stubbled jaw against her soft cheeks, and felt
his mouth lower to her ear. He spoke, and breathed a fire upon
her lobe. His soft mouth brushed the outer shell, and
Guinevere responded to this touch. There was fire, yes. The
Roman was alluring himself, and sweetly so. Guinevere nuzzled
her nose into his dewy neck, finding solace in the strong
sinews and muscle. Was he attempting to disarm her? Arouse
her? The Woad woman turned into his touch, and breathed a
rasped laugh from her throat. There was nothing more
threatening than the touch of the enemy, and yet Arthur made
it gentle...and demanding. Oh, but in another world...another
place...Guinevere would have bedded him well...

Arthur
 
”Very well. “Guinevere….I offer you my gratitude for
your actions in my favor this day. May peace go with
you…daughter of Merlin. Gentlemen….let us make haste to
reach the fortress before the snow overtakes us,”


Guinevere of Briton slid down from the saddle, taking Arthur’s
proffered hand. An amused smile lingered upon her lips. Arthur
spoke with such an interesting formality, and after their
shared journey together? It was an interesting conclusion to
today’s events, and she stood beside Casti, looking up at him.
Gods, but she could still feel the bristled hair of his thighs
upon her legs, and the heat of his mouth remained on her
cheek. Arthur of Rome and Briton Combined...and what an
impressive man he was. If only he would choose to remain home,
here, and abandon Rome’s stupid war. Arthur was full of
British blood, and Guinevere could sense it. It was in the
deep baritone of his voice, the passion of his cause and
conscience...and the way he held morality above all. He was a
fine example of British breeding, and he was wasted on Rome’s
ideals....

“Goodbye Arthur.” She spoke calmly, and watched as he moved to
ride away. The snow had begun to fall once more, and it
covered the muddy ground with ease. The snowflakes fell down
upon her dark hair, and decorated her loose plait with white.
The Woad turned her attention to Ceinwyn and the Roman
Optio...and she frowned for a moment. Ceinwyn wore her
emotionless face well, and the snow had made her pretty. Her
face was no longer dirty, and her hair gleamed red against the
snowy woodland. Guinevere did not ponder upon their
conversation...not truly....the Romans would be gone soon, and
their stench alongside them. Guinevere however, glanced once
more to Arthur, and smiled slightly. Oh, she did not hate him.
Far from it...

Ceinwyn, on the the other hand, hated Romans. She despised the way their armour
glinted in the Winter light, and the way their smug mouths
curved into effeminite smiles. Their manners were grossly
arrogant, and they believed themselves untouchable. It was
almost sweet, almost. Ceinwyn of Briton had emerged from the
snowy woodland, and wore the glittery decorations of
snowflakes and frost. Gentle flakes rested upon her eyelashes,
and made them thick, lustrous. Her red hair gleamed against
the silvery white backdrop, and the snow coated the strands
with a vehement attachment. The snow began to fall again, and
yet Ceinwyn paid it little heed. She tasted the flakes upon
her pouted mouth, and sucked her bottom lip softly, quietly.
Green eyes looked up at the Optio, and she challenged him with
her stare. It was not the gaze of a quiet and feeble woman,
but rather the look of a barbaric savage who would happily rip
out his jugular with her teeth. Ceinwyn had been damaged.
Somewhere along this bloody passage of Life, she had been hurt
and...it glittered in her unforgiving eyes. She was prepared
for a challenge. Any daring duty. ..and she yearned for it.
Death no longer frightened her, because she understood the
cruelty of life. She understood that polite words and gentle
manners resulted in pain and weakness, and so she hardened
herself. Against everything. Ceinwyn was cold, hard, and she
drew strength from her emotionless state...

The young Roman leant down in his saddle, and the woman lifted
her chin in defiance. A small smile formed on her mouth, and
it sought to mock him...

Amadeus
 
"Come to Badon at any time and ask for me personally,
sweetness, should you ever find the courage to attempt
it. Amadeus Scipio."


Sweetness?

Ceinwyn’s green eyes narrowed into tight slits, and her upper
lip curled in distaste. She looked at the man, and suddenly
wondered at his own bravery. It was a brave man who challenged
Ceinwyn in her current state, and the woman gritted her teeth
sharply. She parted her mouth to retort, to shout a nasty
rebuke and destroy Merlin’s promised peace...but was too late.
The Roman pulled his horse away sharply, and Arthur and his
party thundered away into the distance. Ceinwyn had drawn her
dagger from her side, and held the cold tip against her
fingertip. Her eyes glared after the Roman bastard, and she
growled low in her throat. He challenged her? If she had the
courage to do it? Oh, but Ceinwyn wished to follow them now,
and ’attempt’ it. She would love to cut his weak throat, and
make him swallow his words...

Smith
 
”Guinevere.”


Guinevere turned to the voice, and heard the ground thunder
with the sound of hooves. Arthur and his men departed, and
Guinevere did not watch them leave. She trusted Arthur would
depart peacefully, and if he did not? Then his beloved men
would die. The Woad woman walked to Smith, and lifted her dark
gaze to his face. He was a handsome man, but he did not affect
her. Not truly. Her mind was elsewhere, and lingered upon
Arthur’s failure. There would be more attempts at
negotiations, surrenders, wars...there was much more blood
left to be split, and Guinevere knew it. She felt it in the
breezes. Lifting her hand to Scathe’s neck, she ran her
fingers through the horse’s coarse fur. It was damp with snow,
and coated her small hands with ease. She spoke softly,
quietly.

“There is still much to do.” Guinevere looked up at the Woad
scout, and lifted a hand into her own hair. She shook the snow
from the dark tendrils, and allowed it to fall upon her
shoulder blades. “We must still bury the dead, and I wish to
return to my father. Smith, take Ceinwyn upon your horse and
return to the old camp. Bestow them the sacred rites they
deserve, and a burial fit for honourable Britons.” Guinevere
turned to look at Ceinwyn, and lifted her brows. Ceinwyn was
not the sociable kind, nor a woman of conversation...and in
her heart, she knew it was an interesting choice of her men.
Smith would surely drive the other woman crazy, but it did not
matter. It was their duty to bury the dead, and Guinevere
would see it done...

Ceinwyn did not hear the words at first, nor did they settle
into her mind. She stared angrily after Arthur and his party,
and muttered a silent curse of damnation. Her mind reeled, and
a fire lit in the darkest depths of her green eyes. The woman
wanted to scream, and thrust her dagger into the ground.
Truly. She turned slowly to Guinevere, hearing something akin
to an order...and then it struck. ’Take Ceinwyn upon your
horse’?? Ceinwyn’s angry glare turned into a look of
disbelief, and she presumed Guinevere was jesting. Ride a
horse? Ceinwyn was terrified of horses and did not mount one
unless extremely necessary. Surely Guinevere expected
horseback to provide speed? It was a good truth, and yet the
Woad had no intention of riding alongside...Smith. Her green
eyes looked up at the dark and handsome scout, and her fingers
tightened around the dagger’s blade. She must sit in his lap?
The notion was ridiculous, and rendered her completely
powerless. She did not wish it. Not now. Not ever.

“I doubt Smith would want my presence in his lap to hinder his
own control...over such a beast.” Ceinwyn spoke coldly, and
looked hard at Smith. She tipped her head to the side, and
challenged him to defy her words. She would not ride with him.
She would follow on foot...but not sat snugly in his lap like
some wanton whore. No way. Ceinwyn felt a snowflake come to
rest upon the tip of her elven-like nose, and she flared her
nostrils in annoyance. She spoke again. “The hut is not far
from here. I can cover it on foot most adeptly...” The Woad
stood straighter, and flicked her red hair back over her
shoulders. It curled lightly in the damp snow, and she
appeared deeply unimpressed.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Pinkie
Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 3:44 pm
Smith


Smith was comfortable with Guinevere. Theirs was a quiet
understanding. Neither was impassioned beyond sense for the
cause of Britain yet both believed in it with all their hearts
and souls. Both were strong leader but neither sought to be
any other than led by Merlin. There was an attraction there
from Smith's side for how could a man look at Guinevere and
not see beauty and strength? She was a challenge to any man's
ego but she was not a challenge Smith ever intended on taking
to task. No no - he preferred to watch Guinevere. She was
fascinating.

Her dark hair was mottled with white snowflakes, the dark
tendrils made darker and silken by the wet snow. Dark, dark
eyes looked up at him as she stood unflinching next to Scáth.
Her fearlessness went so far that she felt safe to reach out a
slender hand and touch the beast. This made Smith smile and
endeared him even more to Guinevere for she did not fear his
mount as others did. The young woad leaned forward more,
looking down at her fingers against the black, sleek coat of
his horse.

Guinevere
 
”There is still much to do. We must still bury the dead,
and I wish to return to my father. Smith, take Ceinwyn
upon your horse and return to the old camp. Bestow them
the sacred rites they deserve, and a burial fit for
honourable Britons.”


Her sombre words made Smith drop his eyes. He sighed heavily
and purse his lips in agreement. Pressing his arm into the
saddle he puhed himself up into a more upright position as
Guinevere continued. At the mention of Ceinwyn the scout's
dark gaze immediately darted towards her. He knew well her
dislike of company and hatred of horses but it seemed that she
was not so adverse to the idea, her pretty face turned towards
the Romans departing. Smith shrugged one shoulder and
regretted it - the pain in his collarbones increased with the
cold.

" -- " he was about to speak when Ceinwyn's voice interrupted
him. Smith turned in the saddle to look at the wild red-head,
narrowing his dark eyes to see her properly in the fading
light. Her presence was clearest as an obstruction to the
falling snow - was she holding her dagger?

Ceinwyn
 
“I doubt Smith would want my presence in his lap to
hinder his own control...over such a beast. The hut is
not far from here. I can cover it on foot most
adeptly...”


That was more like it.

Smith smiled lazily at her words and reached a hand up to
brush snow from the bare ball of his shoulder. He pursed his
lips and sighed loudly, looking over at Ceinwyn's hard and
unforgiving glare without flinching, smiling in the face of
her irrational scorn for Scáth.

"Hmm - I would never allow you sit on my lap. Least not when I
am riding Scáth. You would be more comfortable and out of my
way best if you rode behind me. But if you would rather that I
rode ahead and did all the work myself then ... " he said
smoothly. "Or you could stop acting like a child and do as you
are ordered." he added but his tone was so soft and so sweet
that what he said did not sound scathing nor insulting. It
sounded friendly and warm - the suggestive tone used between
lovers.

It was a purr.
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golden_trillium

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Author: TwistOfShadows
Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 4:32 pm
Eyla


Darya
 
“If I interpret the way you are looking at me correctly,
there is not much…maybe nothing…that you have not
changed already…in your mind……right?”


Yes. There was a rude truth in her words, but Eyla did not
respond to it. She merely looked deep into the dark
Sarmatian’s eyes and tutted her tongue loudly. The whore was
not cruel, but merely encouraging and honest. She would not
lie to Darya, because the other woman sought advice from the
chief erudite of prettiness. Eyla was known to be pretty. Her
exotic skin was tanned and silken to touch, and her eyes were
deep with passionate lustre. These eyes had seen the most
extraordinary delights of the flesh, and that made Eyla
appealing. She had an aura, an enigma, that followed on the
heels of her slippered feet. She moved gracefully, as if each
feature of movement was part of a larger dance. She glided and
skipped, but did not walk. She sang and flirted, but did not
speak. Her life was a beautiful play, but spontaneous and an
act of improvisation. She lived to please herself, and to
survive. Winter was getting colder, and the winds would be
painful soon. Already the snow had dampened her delicate
slippers and frozen her toes into a stinging pain. The whore
would need more money, and therefore more patrons. More
pleasure. But she could spare a moment for Darya, the
depressed and moody Sarmatian...

Darya
 
”Let’s go then. Tell me a bit about you, Eyla…just…a few
things to get to know you better…”


The outside was freezing, and Eyla immediately exhaled in
sweet shock. Her bare and tanned arms were suddently assaulted
with the cold and falling snow, and she batted the air with an
impatient swipe of hands. Wrapping her shawl tighter around
her shoulders, she dashed quickly across the courtyard. The
snow drifted down upon her dark curly hair, and the tendrils
fell heavier into her rounded bosom. Eyla tutted loudly and
shivered against the cold. Darya wanted to know about her?
Whatever for? The whore glanced incredulously at the
Sarmatian, and continued to pace across the snow-covered
ground. The snow made her slippers wet, and it was most
irritating. She would invest in some warmer clothes...but
still as revealing. She had her stock to promote...

“Whatever for?” Eyla asked with an arched brow, before
laughing sweetly. She threw her head back and caught several
snowflakes in her thick eyelashes. Eyla parted her lips
against the snow, and stuck her tongue out, tasting it,
smiling into it. Well, it was cold but ever so pretty...she
turned to Darya, and spoke again. “I am a whore. I pleasure
men for money and I enjoy lifting my skirts for anyone and
everyone.” It was a cheeky response, and spoken with a slow
and honeyed tone. The two women walked onwards, and reached
the building of the bath-house with little trouble. Eyla
skipped across the entrance, and turned back to Darya, shaking
the snow from her hair. Arching her back, she raked her hands
through her curly hair. “I was born in Heaven, you know? And
my first kiss was with an angel...”

The woman looked at Darya from beneath thick eyelashes, and a
feline smile lifted her lips suggestively...









Ceinwyn

Ceinwyn stood out against the snow. Her form was lithe,
petite, but her leathered clothing was tight around her
rounded bosoms, and her hips held all the sway of feminine
charm. Her long hair had grown longer, thicker, and now curled
into her bosoms and down the gentle curve of her back. Blue
paint was mottled down her arms, but the snow seemed to clean
it from her skin. The dark colour paled, and now the most
prominant colour was a green gleam. It came from beneath thick
eyelashes, dusted with snow and frost. The woman appeared
wild, defiant and confident...but in truth, she sought
solitude. She wanted to disappear into the thickest foliage in
the woodland, and find solace in a lake nearby. She needed to
bathe, and the thought of freezing cold water did not spook
her. No, it appealed. The cold was penance, and she endured
beneath it. Blinking lazily towards Smith and Guinevere, she
flexed her fingers around her dagger. She refused to ride upon
his lap, because it demanded intimacy and close contact.
Ceinwyn did not encourage that, nor did she react well to such
implications. She lived alone, she fought alone, and she
served alone. There was no room for compromise, or argument,
and her expression spoke volumes of its vehemence...
He would agree with her. He must.

Smith
 
"Hmm - I would never allow you sit on my lap. Least not
when I am riding Scáth. You would be more comfortable
and out of my way best if you rode behind me. But if you
would rather that I rode ahead and did all the work
myself then... Or you could stop acting like a child and
do as you are ordered."


He smiled. The man smiled and it boiled Ceinwyn’s blood. Her
green eyes narrowed darkly, and the annoyance showed upon her
features. She pouted her coltish mouth, and tasted snow upon
her lips. She did not act like a child! Rather, she showed
independence and a mind for self-preservation...and Smith
mocked it with his gentle and teasing tone. Gods, but he was a
damnation! Ceinwyn looked deep into his dark eyes, and then
tore her gaze away sharply. She lifted her hand to her hair,
and brushed off the snow irritably, indignantly, sharply. AND
he expected her to ride behind him, where she would surely
fall. It was a hideous mockery, and Ceinwyn found herself
growing angry. She was keen to prove him wrong, but at the
risk of herself upon a wild beast?

’Do all the work myself...?’

Ceinwyn growled loudly, and thrust her dagger back into its
leather cover. The woman flicked her hair from her face
angrily, and strode over to the bloody horse. The creature was
big, imposing, and Ceinwyn sought to calm her own fear. Surely
Smith was watching every action and judging each with a
mocking conviction? Oh, but she hated this. To prove him
wrong? The woman had suffered at the hands of Rome, and knew
her duty well. She knew it better than he...

“Children are not sent to bury the dead.” She snapped, and her
green eyes flared with vehemence. The woman stood beside the
horse, and reached out to grip the pommel hard. Her small
fingers curled into the hot leather, and she was careful not
to touch him. “If I fall, I will kill you. Move forwards.”
Ceinwyn spoke harshly, and deliberately avoided Guinevere’s
gaze. The Woad woman had turned from their path, and Ceinwyn
was not content with her orders. She was not Smith’s ideal
companion in duty. Ceinwyn served alone, and did not share
company with others. The red-head looked up at the man, and
glared at him down the length of her small nose. She did not
seek to disguise her own annoyance, not to him, a man. He was
no concern of hers, no importance...and yet Ceinwyn dreaded
sliding into the saddle behind him. She did not care for
closeness. It unnerved her....
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golden_trillium

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Author: golden_trillium
Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 8:22 pm
Linnesse


Lancelot
 
”Miss, I hope you made up that poultice; I am sore in
need of rest and would like to get to my…bed…before
long.”


Linnesse turned at the touch on her sleeve, setting aside the
empty bowl and spoon that she had just taken from a patient
back on the meal cart- and found herself face to face with
Lancelot, again. He looked quite different now- in fact, she
started slightly at the difference that wet hair and a simple,
undyed tunic and trousers made in him; it made him look
boyish, innocent, even cherubic. Well, the black eye did
detract from it, but still. It was hard to see him now as the
dangerous man that Derfel had proclaimed him to be, and she
started on a friendly smile- but it fell back into coldness at
his next words.

Lancelot
 
”I am sure your mighty husband won’t mind if I pick up
the herbs myself.”


Linnesse arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips disapprovingly,
feeling stung by the sarcasm, polite though his tone was.
Mighty husband? That could not be anything other than a mock,
despite the bland smile! If she was not mistaken, she also
detected some similarity in the tone to comments that Lancelot
had made in the past to and about Gedeon- at least according
to Linnette- and felt her opinion of the man fall another
notch or so. Whether he was dangerous or not was hard to say,
but he was apparently the kind of man who took pouty offense
at the fact that a given woman might not be available to fall
into his bed. Linnesse set her face into a coolly courteous
mask as she answered, summoning up a bit of the ‘looking down
the nose’ expression that Linnette used with those who
displeased her- Linnesse was not nearly so good at it, but
managed to approximate a kinder version passingly.

“I did make it, and as you are the one who is here, you may
surely have it. This way.” Linnesse turned with a small
gesture indicating the way, and led Lancelot to the workroom
where the poultice sat on the corner of the table not far from
the open door, surrounded by the other oddments she had used,
and reeking of the herbs covered by its unassuming cloth. She
picked it up and held it out to him, launching right away into
her businesslike explanation of how to use it- it seemed best
to get this over with as soon as possible, though here in the
infirmary, she did not feel threatened by him. He was a
patient, now. Just a rude patient.

“Just place it over your eye when you lie down, and keep it
there as long as it’s comfortable. The herbs will make it feel
warm, so if it gets too hot, take it off for a while, of
course. Best not to fall asleep with it on, if you can help
it. It should be still usable in the morning, too, but if you
still want it beyond that, I’ll make you a new one. You should
have seen some improvement by then, though- the bruising
starting to pale. Any questions?” Linnesse arched her pale,
barely-there eyebrows at the man inquiringly, wondering if
some other sarcastic comment was coming- and prepared to
coolly deflect if it was.







Quintus and Tristan

Back! Quintus thought he had never been so glad to return to
the fortress. After the eerie, muffled creakiness of the dark,
snowy forest, the wild Woads padding largely unseen at their
sides, even the rather bare comforts of stone walls and
torchlight were as good as a ray of spring sun. And…well,
maybe there would be other comforts available. Ale, for
starters, and the Centurion’s thoughts were tending in the
direction of a woman, too. Yes…someone soft and round and
cheerful- just what he needed right now to banish the dark
worries of the journey.

Once well into the courtyard, Quintus passed off his torch to
one of the stableboys, then dismounted heavily and handed his
reigns to another, glad enough to pass that responsibility to
someone else. His thighs felt stiff and misshapen from the
ride- a long one for him and he walked a couple of steps at a
limp before bones and muscles began to reaccustom themselves
to standing. Off to his right he saw Tristan dismount, easy
and graceful, and eyed the scout with some resentment for his
obviously untroubled movements. Sarmatians- hmph. As Quintus
continued to half watch, Tristan waved off the attentions of a
squire and walk his mount hmself a few steps in the direction
the stable, his stride showing not the slightest sign of
stiffness at all. Ruddy Sarmatians- they were probably just
half horse or something.

Well, no matter. Quintus was just glad to be back. He shifted
from foot to foot a few times, took a couple of discreet
steps, working on loosening himself back up- but not going
anywhere until they had been officially dismissed.
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golden_trillium

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Author: LadyCastus
Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 9:00 pm
Neeria


Neeria liked the feel of the dress against her skin but
wearing it made her feel strange and she wasn't sure if she
liked it. A woad in a dress. She'd never worn a dress before. She'd always worn trousers or a skin around her waist and her leather breast straps. The boots, however felt good on her small feet. The fur inside was soft and warm. She would thank .. what was her name again? ... for them when she saw her again.

The blond knight stood to attention when she walked through
the curtain. Neeria thought he looked relieved, probably
because she was clothed, and despite herself, she smiled when
she saw him. Neeria brushed back her damp hair and smoothed
down her dress, then stared at the floor.

Derfel
 
“She has not been fed yet tonight?”


Neeve
 
“Oh she has been fed…thoroughly…earlier today…but
apparently, Woads eat a lot. So I assume our next
destination is the tavern…again...Are you hungry, too?”


Neeria kicked her toe against the stone floor, a scowl on her
face, and addressed the healer.

"She is standing right here, yet you talk as though she is
not!" Neeria said angrily. "I am hungry and I would like to
eat!" she addded, her dark staring into blue ones. Then she
added, softly, "please."

The Roman put his hands on his hips, pushing back the flaps of
his coat. He wore a beautiful earth-colored tunic, similar in
color to the clothes Neeria usually wore. The small woman
moved a step closer to the knight, admiring his garment, just
as the light through a small window on the ceiling hit his
sword, high, just below the hilt. The reflection caught
Neeria's eye so she bent down slightly and peered closely to
get a better look.

The markings on his belt were beautiful and she recognized
them immediately. She had similar markings on her quivers. A
closer look revealed the same markings on the hilt of the
sword. Neeria's eyes lit up.

"You are Briton!" she exclaimed, "I see the artist's work
there!"

Before she rose to meet his eye, Neeria also noticed Derfel's
hand, which still rested on his hip, and the ring on one of
his fingers.

The smile faded from Neeria's lips. The knight's blond hair,
the blue eyes...

"you!" she snarled suddenly and stepped backward, afraid.
Neeria pressed her body close to Neeve's as an act of both
fear and protection.

"Do you know this man well, healer?" her dark eyes ablaze.
"Don't leave me with him! He is a Saxon!" she hissed.









Karl

Karl slurped loudly as he shoved more of the salty lamb stew
into his mouth. Some of it missed the mark and slid down his
chin and subsequently into a tiny pool onto the wooden table.
As he chewed the tender meat, he pushed a piece of bread in as
well and picked up his tankard. Damn he was hungry. But being
the seasoned drunk he was, he knew he must feed the beast
also.

The tavern was abuzz with news that Artorius and his party had
returned to the fortress. So the fuckers survived Karl
'p'fft'd' to himself. The Roman looked at the back of the room
but it seemed as though Captain Barbattus had already left.
Karl shrugged his shoulders and tilted his tankard up to his
lips. It was empty.

"Need more!" he yelled to a passing wench. "Now!" as he waved
the empty cup over his head. He laughed for no particular
reason as the room suddenly dipped to the right. Karl wondered
if Arthur had reached the peace agreement he was looking for.
Karl doubted it. Fucking woads.

"Where's my drink?" he stammered and raised his hand to shove
another spoonful of stew into his gaping maw.

Just as the spoon reached his mouth, a pretty woman passing by
caught his eye. Before he could say something rude to her,
which was his way, the woman turned and vomited. Karl may have
been drunk, but he moved just in the nick of time, the
contents of the woman's stomach landing on the table and right
into Karl's bowl of stew instead.

"You stupid, clumsy bitch!" the Roman screamed. "You've gone
and fucked up my stew! I ought to make YOU eat it now you
worthless whore!"

Karl, his high now completely blown, wanted to grab the woman
by her neck and snap it right in two. He would have, he
suspected, if the tavern had been less crowded.

"Get the fuck away from me," he yelled in Ione's face. "Or if
you don't, you think I smell bad now, wait'll I take a shit
and smears it in your face ya stupid heifer cow!"

Karl waved his fist in the air, "Vanora! Where in the bloody
fuck is my drink?!"

Karl looked back down at the mess in front of him and muttered
more curses under his breath and moved to another table,
glaring at Ione as he did.










Titrus

Titrus walked Adolphus next to Quintus and Bors, periodically
patting the big horse's long, strong neck. He'd done well on
the trip and Titrus was pleased. The lieutenant knew he should
get back to his daughters right away, but a promise was a
promise.

"Quintus, Bors!" he yelled. "I'm a man of my word. Drinks on
me, if you're interested, once we get finished here. What do
you think?"
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: lady ione
Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 10:09 pm

Ione and Vanora


She was embarrassed to the point of crying. Ione felt better,
but now she had made the man very upset at her, and had drawn
everyone's attention to her. What was more embarrassing was
the fact that someone had mentioned that the men had come
home!

Gods! He could not see her like this! It was not how she had
dreamed of greeting him!

Ione had not thrown up much, but it was enough to make a small
mess of the man's food and the table. The smell of him
assailed her again but this time she did not throw up, but
just felt queasy...

Karl
 
"You stupid, clumsy bitch!" "You've gone and fucked up
my stew! I ought to make YOU eat it now you worthless
whore!" "Get the fuck away from me," "Or if you don't,
you think I smell bad now, wait'll I take a shit and
smears it in your face ya stupid heifer cow!" "Vanora!
Where in the bloody fuck is my drink?!"


This was truely insulting and Ione's face turned red, but she
did not cry. In her life time, she had heard worse insults, so
whatever this man yelled at her more or less embarrassed her
more. Vanora wiped up the table, then turned and asked a wench
to fetch a pail of hot water and some disinfectant. She called to a nearby wench that was not busy and asked, "Can you take this young lady to the back and help her clean up a bit?" The wench nodded, and led Ione to the back room to clean up a bit.

Ione followed the other woman not even looking back at the
drunk. The wench and Ione knew each other from when the weaver
had worked in the tavern. Taking Ione to the kitchen, the
wench took a clean cloth and wiped the woman's face, "We'll
have ye lookin' like new in no time, Ione..." The wench
thought for a moment, then said, " Perhaps I have a dress that
would fit you, Ione. It is a skirt with a tunic, and a cloak."
The weaver followed the woman as they went up a set of creaky
stairs to a row of rooms for the wenches to live in, and the
wench led Ione to her room. She opened the door, and Ione
stepped inside, the door closing behind her.

The skirt came to her ankles and was loose enought o be
comfortable around her belly, and the tunic was lightweight,
but not see through. Ione was grateful to the wench for her
help in getting cleaned up, and also for the tunic and the
skirt. Quickly she changed into them and threw the soiled
dress and cloak into the pile of dirty towels to be washed. "I
will be taking those to be washed tomorrow, then I will bring
it to your shop when it is clean."

Ione braided her hair loosly and left it hang down her back.
The weaver looked at herself in the mirror. The young woman
ran her hands over the clothes then turned to the wench, "It
is lovely! Thank you so much..." It had been a hard day, and
the kindness of this woman plus Tirus and Linnesse had made
things easier to deal with. The wench smiled, "Let's go then
and get you some mint tea to drink..." The two women left the
room, and went back to the eating area...

In her mind, the man's insults replayed themselves.

As if this day had not been bad enough....

Out on the floor, Vanora had gone to get Karl's drink, and not
that he needed any more to drink. Vanora had been surprised
that Malcus had left the man there. In her mind, Karl was
dangerous and could not be trusted. Hopefully, all of the men
from the mission would come in, then the place would be safer.
She brought the drink back to the irrational drunk, and
plopped it down in front of him, "There! Take yer drink! Tis
on the house..." Vanora turned her back on the man and
continued to clean up the mess on the table....
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golden_trillium

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Author: golden_trillium
Date: Fri Jan 09, 2009 12:17 pm
Linnette


Dagonet
 
”Linnette…stop apologizing. I agreed to help.”


“I know. Sor…” Realizing that she was on the verge of
apologizing again, when he had just told her not to, Linnette
gave him an attempt at a rueful smile, then turned away, with
a deflated sigh. Her gaze focused on the wall behind Mari,
though there was nothing there worth seeing; it just ensured
that she didn’t have to look at either Dagonet or Saoirse.
Dagonet had agreed to this, yes, and she was grateful for it-
but the persistent sorrowful frown on his didn’t make her feel
good at all. Linnette couldn’t escape the feeling that this
was just an opening of the wound for him, and not the
exciting, hopeful experience that it was- or had been until a
short time ago- for her.

Was there nothing she could do to cheer him up? Even a little?
Get him to crack a smile for the portrait, not to mention
lighten his heart a bit for his own sake? Linnette turned,
eyes scanning the quiet, sorrow-filled room a little
desperately for some diversion- and her eyes landed on the
book. The book that Drake had lent her, the comedy, the
beginning of which had already so amused Mari, sitting on the
table where she had left it near Mari’s paper scraps. There
was always that- and she had told Dagonet last night that she
would read to him!

“Here!” she blurted, nearly making a dive for the book, and
clutching it in her hand as she retreated back to the chair
she had originally been sitting on, plunking down it a bit
awkwardly as she stepped back and ran her heel prematurely
into the chair leg. “It’s that book I showed you last night-
Mari and I liked the beginning of it. Perhaps you’d like to
hear it, too?” She opened the small volume, the spine bending
with small, leathery, gluey sounds, and held it in her good
had, the bandaged one ready to turn the pages.

“It’s called Gloriana, a Tale of Adventure,” she announced,
and then, not knowing what else to do, launched right into the
beginning of the story, scarcely looking up until she had
completely finished the first page. By then, she, at least,
felt a bit comforted by the undeniable humor, and by the
familiarity of the words she had read to Mari so short a time
ago- but she was not sure if Dagonet or Saoirse had liked it
at all. She lowered the book and looked from one to the other
hopefully, while on the other side of the table, Mari’s pencil
still scratched away.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Elessars Girl
Date: Fri Jan 09, 2009 1:37 pm
Arthur


Arthur had brought Casti to a halt just in front of the main
entrance to the stables within Badon Keep; the rest of his men
followed and immediately began dismounting around him. It was
late and snowing and the Commander was feeling far more
exhausted than he would ever admit. He heard Amadeus utter the
word ‘home’ and sighed in concurrence without even turning to
look at the Optio.

Home.

Merlin had kept his word and allowed Arthur and his men safe
passage back to the fortress…but how long until the next
attack? How long until more blood was spilled and more lives
lost? Arthur’s head throbbed and his side ached…but he managed
to swing out of the saddle with only a small hint of stiffness
in his movements. He handed off the reigns to an obliging
stable hand and then gave his great white horse a firm rub
along the animal’s neck before Casti was led away. Before
turning to address the men, Arthur reached up to brush the
worst of the fluffy fat snowflakes from his hair and to scrub
a hand over his stubbled face. Failure weighed heavily on his
mind; causing the lines in his brow to thicken – casting dark
shadows in the torchlight as Arthur turned his attentions to
the brave men who had rode with him today.

“Gentlemen!” Arthur called out in his rich baritone voice to
those still gathered around him; his steely expression belied
the turmoil that he felt churning inside.

“Go to your rest tonight…no one deserves it more,” The
Commander continued with genuine good intent while his green
eyes sought to reach the expression of each and every man
present. They had all served Arthur well today and he was most
grateful.

“May God keep you,” Arthur offered in his way of dismissing
the men from their duty to him tonight. He then turned to
Optio Scipio and gestured towards the building that housed
their quarters.

“Optio Scipio, walk with me,” Arthur said with a tight-lipped
smile on his weary expression. As his second in command in the
eyes of the Roman Army, Arthur knew that the two men should
follow protocol and discuss what must be done in the aftermath
of the failed negotiations. And while any formal report could
wait until morning to be written, Arthur wished to briefly
discuss the most pressing matters before going into seclusion
to make his prayers tonight. The Commander began to walk now,
fully expecting Scipio to oblige him and keep pace.

Would Lancelot be waiting as ordered? Or would the mother of
Arthur’s unborn child be the one holding vigil in the
Commander’s chambers? Was Arthur ready to show his failures to
either? Would God forgive his shortcomings? Uther’s plain
metal cross felt cold where it pressed against the base of
Arthur’s throat beneath his hauberk and mail….

…and the feel of Guinevere’s plush and warm lips seemed to
linger on Arthur’s neck – despite it being hours since the two
had bonded almost intimately together on the ride. Just what
had passed between the Commander and Merlin’s daughter? And
why? In another life or another time…..Arthur bit at his
bottom lip and shoved the speculation aside. It did not matter
now. There was no peace and no place in his world for
Guinevere’s companionship in any form other than ‘thy enemy’.









Derfel

Neeve
 
“Oh she has been fed…thoroughly…earlier today…but
apparently, Woads eat a lot. So I assume our next
destination is the tavern…again...Are you hungry, too?”


Was Derfel’s stomach up to greeting any solid foods since
wretching this morning? The knight was not entirely
certain…but he felt a small pang of hunger at the mention of
food. It was getting late though and entirely possible that
they would be too late for a good hearty meal there. But the
tavern seemed a fair destination for now as Derfel had no idea
what to do with this prisoner anyways.

“Tavern sounds a right good place to me,” He answered with an
accepting nod to Neeve.

Neeria
 
"She is standing right here, yet you talk as though she
is not! I am hungry and I would like to eat! ….please."


“Then off we go, aye?” Derfel responded, thankful that the
Woad girl was agreeable. But before he took a step, Neeria
moved closer and seemed drawn to something in his dress…which
was a bit unnerving….but Derfel held fast for a moment even if
it was with a quizzical glance over at Neeve.

Neeria
 
"You are Briton! I see the artist's work there!"


“I am,” Derfel acknowledged. So the girl recognized the Celtic
pattens adorning his leather belt. It had been the gift that
the young knight had received upon old Hwyel’s passing, along
with the great sword too…Derfel’s mentor had been a knight as
well and had taught the younger man the ways of the sword and
spear.

Then Neeria’s smile faded away as she further inspected
Derfel’s person, much to his discomfort. The only woman that
he wanted so closely examining him was Linnesse, for the gods’
sake. What was it with this Woad? Had she not seen one of
Arthur’s knights before? Of course she had.

Neeria
 
"You! … Do you know this man well, healer? Don't leave
me with him! He is a Saxon!"


Derfel sighed and then bit at his bottom lip as he watched the
Woad cower away from him as if he had some infectious decease.
He then crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest and
narrowed crystal blue eyes at the woodland lass in a dress.

“I am Arthur’s knight and charged with minding you t’night…so
you’d best be watchin’ your manners, miss,” Derfel flashed a
full set of white teeth at Neeria and then rolled his eyes as
he stepped aside and gestured for Neeve to lead the way out of
the baths. Voices could be heard nearby as well…female voices
(Darya and Eyla)…so the young knight was quite glad to be leaving the womens baths before other patrons had arrived. He’d been embarrassed enough tonight thankyouverymuch.

“After you, ladies,” He added with a single cocked eyebrow and
a small wink at Neeria. Lady….indeed. Derfel’s right hand went
to the hilt of his sword while the other remained gratiously
extended until the two women stepped by him.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Pinkie
Date: Fri Jan 09, 2009 5:11 pm
Catherine


The winter chill seeped into her bones quickly. Catherine had
bathed at home and was fresh and clean, her scrubbed skin
gleaming, her blonde hair immaculately flighty where it peeked
out from inside the hood of her cloak. She had done well this
day and was simply going to the tavern for the company rather
than to seek business. Arland was bcoming more and more
possessive of her and she had no wish to sit and listen to his
yabbering on about Sarmatians being crude, using men,
barbarians yadda yadda. Gawain had not been barbaric to her.
Far from it... she recalled with a sad sigh, biting her bottom
lip.

Lancelot had not been barbaric either.

And Tristan had not been... well, he had been a little
barbaric but only in a good way, Catherine thought with a wry
smile.

The snow was falling once more, coating the ground in a clean
sprinkling of white. Her cloak was a pale blue wool so the
snow did not show on it clearly but the dark night ensured
that her pale form was quite visible as she ghosted through
the archway that led into the courtyard of Badon Keep. Her
hazy green eyes looked about quizzically and she heard the
thud of hooves. She turned to see riders coming thruogh the
gate and towards the stables.

Pursing her lips, Catherine leaned her shoulderblades against
a post and watched the men ride forward and then dismount.
Piqued, she stepped forward towards the railings that ensured
the knights and soldiers were not disturbed when preparing to
ride out or when they had just returned.

Her slender hand was ungloved as she liftd it, placing it on
the cool iron railing, leaning forward so that her pretty
cheeks were but a whisper away from the railings too. Her eyes
devoured the sight, her smile small but genuine. Idly she
started to toy with a strand of hair, eyes twinkling with
delight as she watched the men dismount. She spotted some
familiar faces in amongst the men, her head tipping to the
side when she spotted Tristan. Catherine hummed to herself as
she perused the scout she had bedded and she sighed then in
clear satisfaction.

She had learned little from him and she wished to know more.
Badly. What of Sarmatia? Was it true what they said about
their warrior women? And if that was so then how did the
Sarmatians feel about the woad women fighters here in Britain?
And what of the strong kinship to their horses? Why was that?

Unanswered questions.

Catherine trailed the back of her index finger against her
cold jaw and looked away from Tristan, scanning the others.
The sharp-nosed Roman was impressive though he did look quite
severe. And ah - a rare treat. Arthur stood amongst his men,
his voice raised to address them. Catherine's eyes twinkled
even more to see the Fortress Commander and she stood on tippy
toes to see the tall Roman above the heads of others gathered
around him. He was beginning to turn and walk away. Catherine
sunk back to the flats of her feet and trailed the strand of
hair against her lips now as she too turned. It was almots a
childish walk that she did, strolling through the snow with a
playful swing to her hips, eyes distant as she made towards
the tavern.









Galahad

"No I don't want... !" Galahad whined as the cook took away
the buttery bread he had procured and replaced it with a
rather coarse looking brown hunk. The young knight slumped
defeatedly, hands falling down between his thighs as he sat on
the stool at the big table in the keep's kitchen. The cook at
the keep was reknowned for being overly interested and frank
in discussing the bowels and digestive habits of anyone brave
enough to sit before her in the kitchen. Her food was
incomparable, rich and wholesome, filling and hearty - and
free to the keep residents too.

Apparently, according to Cook, Galahad's petulant demeanour
and foul humour was all down to a 'blockage in his pipes'. He
still wasn't sure what that meant but he had been speedily fed
a thick and hearty soup, which was delicious, but his desire
for some of the roast meat that was still dripping over the
fire with some of the cornbread that she made was met with
firm and, in Galahad's opinion, ridiculous disapproval. His
warm blue eyes were accusing as he watched the large woman
waddle back to her large pot of soup, adding in some more
water adn then some more herbs.

"But why.. " Galahad began. The woman turned and waved a ladle
at him, splashing him with the hot soup which causd him to
flinch to one side then the other.

"You listen to me young man. You are too scrawny and sullen to
be healthy right? So you'll eat what I give you and wait and
see - tomorrow you'll be feeling right as rain. Once you've
visited the privvy of course, and .."

"Ok ok ok ok ok ! You don't need to spell it out!" Galahad
interrupted impatiently, waving a hand around frantically.

His shoulders slumped and he put his large hand over the brown
bread. It was still warm. Sighing he gathered it up and turned
to leave the kitchens.

"There's a good lad now.." Cook said with a pleased smile,
turning back to her stew. With her back turned Galahad took
the unseen moment to pilfer a jar of honey that was sitting
open on a counter and darted out of the kitchens with his
stolen goods, hurrying along the corridor.

Sniffling and disatisfied with his meal, the young knight
dipped an edge of the bread into the honey and lifted the
dripping sweet bread to his mouth, hanging it over his open
mouth and letting the honey drip onto his tongue before taking
a bite of the softened bread.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Lancelot
Date: Fri Jan 09, 2009 7:06 pm
Lancelot


Lancelot followed the blond woman into a side workroom; it was
the one he'd stuck his head into due to the unusual smell. He
caught the change in her sweet demeanor as he spoke to her -
most people reacted to him in one of two ways, and she was
exhibiting the more common of the two. Haughtiness, and mild
annoyance mixed with tolerance.

Just like most of the good ones.

Linnesse
 
“Just place it over your eye when you lie down, and keep
it there as long as it’s comfortable. The herbs will
make it feel warm, so if it gets too hot, take it off
for a while, of course. Best not to fall asleep with it
on, if you can help it. It should be still usable in the
morning, too, but if you still want it beyond that, I’ll
make you a new one. You should have seen some
improvement by then, though- the bruising starting to
pale. Any questions?”


His full mouth twitched a smile at her 'instructional' tone.
But he listened to what she said and nodded at the end, his
clothing bundled under one arm as he took the poultice into
his left hand.

"No, lady, no questions. I think I can manage to follow the
directions," he smiled more broadly, and gods help him, it
became somewhat genuine - if only for a moment. "Thank you for
your trouble and time." He turned and reentered the hallway,
the door never close enough to him in this place. Stopping
before he exited, he twisted his neck just enough to see
Derfel's woman out of the corner of his eye. "He's lucky to
have you," he said, his words soft and his tone serious - he
tried to keep the small amount of wistfullness out of it. "You
tell me - anytime - if you have need of me."

He faced her and gave her a small bow, and then, quick as the
fae he resembled, he was out the door and into the deeping
night.

Shaking his head as he walked - what the hell had gotten into
him? Something about that woman, he guessed - he hunched into
himself and his teeth began to chatter at the chill in the
wind, now stronger since the sun had set. He rubbed at his
damp hair, the snow sticking to it aggravatingly, and was
rounding the corner by the stables near the main gate when he
looked up.

Arthur
 
“May God keep you,”


Lancelot stopped in his tracks as he saw the returning peace
idiot's mission to Merlin. And he heard him speak to the
knights and dismiss them with typical religious ferocity.

Lancelot's body trembled minutely, his dirty clothing and the
poultice that he clutched in his hands shaking a bit as he
stood and stared at Arthur and Scipio, completely unaware of
the cold or his tremors or anything but his fucking sudden
relief.

Arthur
 
“Optio Scipio, walk with me,”


And he watched as Arthur did not see him - granted, he was
wearing things he did not normally wear, and Arthur certainly
probably thought Lancelot was in his own quarters, or waiting
for Arthur - as ordered.

Arthur walked away, most definitely assuming that the Optio
would follow him, and Lancelot stayed rooted to the spot as
the two men shrank in his sight. And Lancelot had to swallow
hard over the bile that rushed into his throat and over the
pure and unadulterated rage that made him dry mouthed and
dizzy.

"Jesu," he whispered the curse once more, and gritted his
teeth so hard he thought he might have broken one. Suddenly,
he didn't care if he was hungry, or tired, or cold. He cared
to speak with Arthur - and have this fucking done.

He crossed the courtyard after the Romans, and entered the
building that housed the quarters. Pushing into his own rooms,
he flung his dirty clothing down and set the poultice for his
eye on his table. He kicked off his boots, moved to the small
hutch that housed his wine - especially the wine that he'd won
in not so legal games - and yanking out a bottle of good
Caledonian, ripped the cork out with his teeth and drained
half the bottle before he stopped to breathe.

Lucky for him, he had eaten, and his tolerance was high.
Lancelot put the cork back in slowly, and crossed to his
brazier. He kindled the almost dead coals and stood in front
of the thing as it roared to life, his bare feet and damp hair
making him shiver as he thought.

He felt ill. He felt happy, and thankful, and disappointed
that he didn't have to go after Merlin. That would have been
the only good thing if Arthur hadn't come back. He felt
nauseated, and angry, and he wanted to punch that damn Optio
in the face.

He closed his eyes, and squeezed the lids tightly, the pain in
his bruised one a welcome distraction from the burning
sensation that signaled tears. He fought it like the monster
he was.

He would wait...and then, later, when things had quietened
down for the evening, he'd go to Arthur's rooms.

And they would talk.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Pinkie
Date: Fri Jan 09, 2009 7:25 pm
Amadeus


Arthur
 
“Gentlemen! Go to your rest tonight…no one deserves it
more, May God keep you, Optio Scipio, walk with me,”


Amadeus could not agree more.

He felt as if he had not rested in a month. The aches of being
in a saddle, the throbbing of his bruised body from the
battle, the emotional battering he had taken in finding his
two companions dead and by the others hand at that! And he
wanted nothing more than to compose his letter, have it sent
away right this moment and then sink into his bed and sleep
until a morning, evening and yet another morning came around.
He had held this fort safe whilst Arthur battled with Saxons
and he had followed through as much as he could by riding out
twice to treat with Merlin and now he wanted to rest.

But Arthur turned and gestured for the Optio to follow him,
uttering those words that bid the Roman to follow. Amadeus
suppressed a groan. He would not let Arthur think that he was
tired nor wearied. He would not let the man see that weakness
in him. He turned a grey eyed look on a stable hand and pursed
his lips petulantly looking for the little child that he had
ordered to look after Rowan and Wybert's horses. He could not
see her present and gave a sniff of disapproval at that.

Composing himself with a roll of his shoulders and a tug at
the bottom of his tunic, Amadeus turned to follow Arthur
silently, his head bowed. The silver armour that he wore
needed polishing, his boots needed waxing and there was a tear
in his cloak that needed mending. There was much he had to do
but nothing was as important as the letter he had to send to
Rome - nothing could occupy his mind with more urgency and
intensity as that letter for it was a letter that would ensure
that he, Amadeus Scipio, would inherit from a disgraced Arthur
this place at Badon Hill.

"I presume we can expect a lull somewhat from the woads for
some time?" he asked, lifting a hand to his unshaven jaw and
grimacing at the feel of stubble there. He would have to bathe
too. Put that at the top of his list of things to tomorrow.
"They looked fairly battered and depleted - I can't think that
Merlin would risk another attack so soon." he said though he
was not entirely certain that this was true. He knew little of
woad tactics and nothing of Merlin besides what he had
witnessed the past two days. And despite his desire to make
Arthur believe that he was not tired a yawn broke through his
alert facade, the Optio lifting a balled fist to stifle it
uselessly, his grey eyes watering with tiredness.
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