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For the better half of that late-spring morning, they had been lost amidst the Pennines. Not that Lancelot minded. He was entranced by the beauty of the gently rolling moors. To think that he had lived for so long without ever seeing the beauteous stretches of purple heather, the shaded woodland, the sparkling brooks and rivers and all the pretty hills and valleys in between. His whole journey across Britain had been eye-opening, but the moors especially struck him. Indeed, Vivienne had kept him in a bubble for the most of his boyhood. And here he was, not yet twenty, and seeing the entirety of his country for the first time.

It was a splendid education. He no longer felt like the naïve boy he was when he first left the Lake. He knew the land, and he knew the different kingdoms and the plights that afflicted them. Plagues, bloodfeuds, squalor, invasions, sieges, strife amidst neighbors, unjust rulers… and unsavory knights who so twisted the code to their own wicked designs. He even fought some of these knights and put them in their place. He was still a squire, but he had defeated near a dozen knights already—some of great esteem. It was a quick way of making enemies, though, for after one knight was slain, there would be another that would seek out this young, meddlesome Sir Lancelot, wishing to avenge his brother or son or cousin—whoever it was that was slain.

Of course, not all of his opponents had been slain. If they asked for mercy, he would grant it. And for the first several, he would let them go as they were, riding away with a wound to teach them. But then he observed a duel between two knights, in which the victor spared the one who yielded, but also took his horse and armor. And so, following that example, Lancelot took possession of the horse of the next knight he defeated, and gifted Alanna with a fine flaxen chestnut charger of her own to ride.

That was over a period of two years. There were many other adventures—crossing perilous bridges, rescuing damsels, slaying destructive beasts. He felt that no good deed was too small to assist--helping a lady cross a river or searching for lost children; even offering rides to tired elders. There were many people who needed help, and the sight of his sword and shield made them flock his way.

And he was not ever alone during his travels. He had his dearest companions. Kantus was still ever faithful to him—and he had even repainted the color of his shield to match Lancelot’s! He tried to convince him otherwise—“Vert is as perfect a color as azure”—but Kantus was set that his shield needed a new color.

Lancelot also knew his cousins much better now, and was pleased that he seemed to have earned their loyalty as kinsmen. Although he did not celebrate the fact, he found that he favored Bors over Lionel. Lionel had many fine qualities, to be sure. He was bold, and courageous and he had an unwavering sense of justice. But he also had a terrible temper, and could become grouchy for no reason at all. Not to mention he had a tendency to overestimate his abilities, and get into trouble and have to be rescued. But Bors… Bors was a saint. Lancelot loved his cousin dearly. And he used him as an example to follow in virtue, for there were times that Lancelot learned from Bors that he relied too heavily on might, when peace would be more favorable. Bors was also an example to follow for his vow of chastity. Lancelot stood ever staunchly by his own like vow.

Of course, this vow was not always easy to keep. Alanna was ever by his side, and every day it appeared that she grew more gorgeous and… desirable to him. Sometimes he feared that if the other three men weren’t with them at all times, he would do something he’d regret. He even refrained from kissing her or other such gestures of romantic intent. He wanted to, of course, but it just didn’t fit to be demonstrative in the presence of the other squires. He decided that he had been too forward with her when they had first known each other in the Lake. He was a man now, and approaching knighthood—so he best behave like one.

And thus he sat atop his white charger Clarric, lightly dressed in mail and his azure surcoat—a man. The late-spring sun was bright, and bathing down upon him, illuminating the deep brown color of his hair. His face had been darkened by the sun just as Alanna’s was. The lower portion of his face was especially dark with the stubble that had grown while traveling. His sun-warmed, scruffy face, along with the thin scars on his cheek, made him appear much older than nineteen. He had also grown considerably, in height and musculature, and even his voice was deeper.

But he was not at all thinking of himself at that moment. He was fixing his eyes on Alanna, and noticing how she had grown since he first met her. It was the main luxury he allowed himself—that at least he could take her in with his eyes, and admire all the subtle colors the sun had bleached into her waist-long hair… not just blonde, but silken tresses of honey, straw, wheat, sandstone… and even those strands that shone like gold.

He was brought back to the task at hand, when he heard an especially loud moorland bird call. They were looking for Greensbury, and here they had just come to a vista that afforded them a view of the wide dale and marshland of the Swale River. And to his delight, the valley showed itself to be gridded with farmland and the small dwellings of a village.

“Alanna of Greensbury,” he turned back to her, grinning pleasantly. “Might this be the village of your birth?”

((OOC: beyond-the-lake-king-arthur-ooc-t10654.html))

Lady Mennah of Rozeshire found herself quite busy that morning. It was a beautiful morning, that was to be sure, clear blue skies with plenty of sunshine promised a lovely day for all. Unfortunately, her schedule was not nearly as appealing. At least all the repairs to her people’s saud homes had been repaired, and even the new hay barn was finished. That however still left the problem of Ralcia. She loved her cousin dearly, but at times her fascination with human custom was overwhelming, her latest endeavour, Mennah’s birthday party. She’d managed to talk Ralcia out of trying to throw a grand ball with all the neighbours in attendance as she’d originally planed, but now she had the enthusiasm of her people for what ever scheme she had going this time. Ralcia has caught on to the fact if Mennah did not know the details of her plans, she could not forbid them, and used that to an existent that bordered on mischief. She would be turning eighteen on the marrow, which only left her today to put a stop to what ever eccentric planes Ralcia had going through her head.

Then there was the planting season to get under way. Most of the wheat and barley had already been planted, but there was still yet oats to plan. The fruit trees had also bloomed late this year (no doubt a result of this year’s long winter) and were just now, in Late May, in full bloom. The apple blossoms were her favourite, white with hints of pink and yellow. They all seemed to sway down gently in the soft spring breeze. The orchard truly was a sight to behold this year. But as lovely as this was, it all indicated a late harvest this year. She was now quite grateful for her decision to double the field work and store almost twice as many reserves last harvest. It meant Rozeshire would be able to supply food to the surrounding areas without cutting down their own supply, keeping her people feed warm and happy.

The news she found herself looking forward to however, was Armand and Ian’s visit. They were due back today from Armand’s new Land he’d inherited from Sir Olrick, Gentonsburg. He’d not been away long, for Gentonsburg was less than a days ride from Rozeshire, but a week of being apart as he surveyed his new lands and established his place as Lord seemed entirely too long for her. She wished she could have gone with him, but he needed to go and establish his authority, and she was needed back here to over see the plantings and the final repairs, both nearly complete now. At least she’d be able to see him today, she mused to herself as she walked through the village making the morning rounds and checking on the health of her people. Penelope’s baby was due soon, so she always made it her business to check her home first.

After it was established that Penelope was in a fine condition, Mennah picked up the hem of her dress and continued around the small village. She found herself wearing dresses more often (whether made by Ralcia or a suggestive present from Armand), but still occasionally wore trousers and a tunic when helping with more dirty jobs that would ruin the dresses she had. The dress she wore now, a rich olive green with embroidered yellows, with a hanging leather belt, was one of her favourites. It has been one of Ralcia’s first attempts at making a human style dress, and she had to admit, it came out quite nicely. She then sighed thinking about her cousin again. She really did need to find out what she was planning.

He leaped along the treetops, using his hands and hand-like feet to grab branches and trees. Somehow, he was much faster when traveling among the trees rather than on the ground. Strange, but true. He stopped when the trees came to an end, "No more trees?" he said, nearly pouting like a child as he prepared to climb down but stopped again, "Oooh... strangers! who are they? Where are they from? Most of all, do they laugh?" he chanted as he hit the ground in a crouched position. The strangers were 3 young men, dressed as knights, or something very close to it. They were riding with a woman of about the same age with blonde hair, both were on horses. He decided to find out... but not in the regular way, noooo. He was never known for doing things the conventional way. He much preferred being odd and strange. He plucked a hair from his head and dropped it. In a poof of smoke it turned into what he would have looked like should he have been a human.

"Hail! Strangers!" the illusion said in the best british dialect Semya could make it do. It wasn't wearing the same outlandish clothes as Semya, but a simple peasant's tunic, "Lovely day, don't you think?" he asked through the illusion, a little too social towards strangers for a peasant but, maybe they wouldn't notice?

"Aye, my lord, 'tis!" Alanna leaned forward in her saddle, her great brown eyes widening with delight. She recognized the humble buildings of and thatched roofs, the unique way certain bushes seemed to grow taller than wide, and the manner of some of the far-off farmers with their plowing mules and carefully lined irrigation ditches. Her girlhood home had changed relatively little in the past dozen or so years, which hardly surprised her. Greensbury had always been a rational and calm place, with few interested in obtaining radical change in their lives. Though there were several more small huts that suggested several more families having developed in her absence, she sought out one building in particular. Greensbury Manor, the small attempt at a castle which she had been born and raised in, and where the people of Greensbury fled to in times of need. It was not difficult to find, surrounded by orchards and considerably larger than the average village home. From this distance, the stone wall that protected the admittedly minuscule manor appeared to be no more than a thin gray line...but Alanna smiled warmly at the sight of the structure that she had never imagined viewing against during her living days.

In fact, there were many things she had never imagined seeing or doing again throughout her lifetime, up until a couple of years ago. She had never thought she would wear a gown again, or have to sit still while her hair was fussed with. She had thought she would be always viewed as a comrade--or at least a peasant version of one--by men. She had believed herself doomed to never have children, or to marry. But then, of course, she had stumbled upon a magical lake and its Champion...and now here she was, baring her father's blade and still wearing what was technically men's clothing (modified by herself to fit more comfortably around her female body) and with her hair long like a woman's, riding along with Kantus, and her beloved Lancelot and his cousins, whom she had grown rather fond of as well during the last two years. She had changed during their adventures into a woman far more herself than anything else, and was pleased with that fact.

"There...do you see that apple orchard? That is where my brothers and I would chase squirrels during the fall! My sister once fell into that well next to the church...my father pulled her out using an empty pickle barrel. And where that hay field is now...it was once so covered in snow, one could not see even the shape of the hay stacks!" Alanna laughed as she pointed out the locations where the childhood memories had been formed, her expression only growing brighter as she went over them. She was a bit apprehensive about returning home, of course. Who knew what the villagers would think of their Lord's daughter's choice of lifestyle when they found out? And Adaline...what had become of her? Was she still living in Greensbury manor? Or in Greensbury at all? But for now, she merely basked in the happy glow of homecoming, and hoped against hope that she would be greeted with the same pleasure she felt just seeing the familiar landscape.

But before she could nudge the charger that Lancelot had gifted her with forward into the valley, an exceedingly strange fellow made himself known.

Bors shifted in his saddle, his brows coming together in confusion. He had grown accustomed to the difference in customs and life in general between his home and his cousins', but this chipper lad was beyond any other oddities he had seen before. It wasn't so much his appearance as it was his over eager greeting and leaping out from the bushes.

"Hail, stranger," He offered in reply, glancing over at Lancelot and Alanna as though seeking some cue. "It iz indeed a lovely day...are you from Greenzbury?"

Maraud had just placed the last tessera of her mosaic. She took a step back, and appraised her work. It was a fine vase that she had covered entirely in miniscule glass tesserae. Her practiced artistry was evident in the detailed, distinctly Roman-British geometric designs, interlaced knots and guilloche patterns.

Of course, it wasn’t meant to be kept in Roryn’s small wood cabin. Not with Aurora around, at least. If there was anything breakable within the toddler’s reach—she would be sure to break it. Maraud had thought that she would be able to decorate the cottage to her liking. No, it was not the case—she cleaned the forest home religiously, but other than some new wood furniture, she left it as empty as possible.

And so she had carefully kept the vase out of Aurora’s reach. And soon, hopefully, she would have it out of the house. It was a birthday gift for Mennah. Maraud had not been able to continue to tutor the half-fey in magic. Mennah seemed to be too preoccupied with resuming her duties over Rozeshire—although Maraud would try to keep in touch with her via glass orb conversations. And she happened to know by instinct that Mennah’s eighteenth birthday was approaching. The vase was no ordinary vase after all. Maraud never gave a gift without it having a favorable enchantment on it—and so this vase was charmed to keep flowers fresh everlastingly.

But before Maraud could admire all of her work and test the charm, there came a set of noises to her pointed ears. Clashing metal, and a baby’s babble. “Aurora!” she called out, and immediately dashed to the closet, which had apparently been left open, since Aurora was sitting on a pile of Roryn’s mail armor, and banging her small hands on his metal buckler, laughing at her reflection. She looked up at Maraud with her wide green eyes and cooed, “Mummy!”

“Oh, you. That is your father’s armor, Aurora. It is not for little girls to play with,” she said gently to her daughter, stooping to pick her up from where she sat in the closet. Maraud carried the baby across the room, and sat down in her wooden chair. She set Aurora on her lap and affectionately stroked her wispy brown hair. Aurora was fourteen months old, and an absolutely gorgeous baby. She was also precocious, for she had said her first words at four months—she called Roryn ‘Papa’—much to Maraud’s surprise. Of course, her first ‘mummy’ came soon after.

Aurora was also very active, and hated to sit down for very long. She lifted herself up and stood on Maraud’s lap, and faced her mother. Maraud pulled her daughter close to her and kissed her forehead, and then her adorable nose. Aurora babbled in her baby talk, and then grasped a lock of Maraud’s hair in her fist and gave a good yank. “No pulling mummy’s hair!” Maraud winced, carefully pulling off Aurora’s tiny fist. She was very strong for a little one… To distract her, Maraud reached down and grabbed a cloth doll and waved it in front of Aurora. “Wouldn’t you like to play with your doll, Aurora?”

“No!” Aurora asserted loudly, and then giggled, hopping up and down on Maraud’s thighs. Maraud’s nostrils flared in frustration. Ever since Aurora first learned the word ‘no,’ she used it far more often than Maraud would like. And besides that, she refused the doll most of all her toys. And Maraud had carefully sewn and constructed the doll herself…

Having twenty pounds hopping about on her lap was wearing thin on Maraud, so she stood and set Aurora down, who was excited to be on the ground again so she could wobbly run around. Maraud sat back down on the chair and watched Aurora with her legs crossed, and her hand massaging her scalp. Both Roryn and Mabuz had long hair—why did Aurora never pull theirs? She had been much fonder of Aurora when she couldn’t walk, and was quite happy to fall asleep in her mother’s arms. Of course, she had always left Maraud chronically short on sleep.

It was amazing to think that she had once been so staunchly set on never having a child. Most of the time it was not pleasurable, as she had expected. But despite the annoyances and the hassles, her love for her daughter made it absolutely worthwhile. She tilted her head and gazed down on Aurora with a calm, fatigued smile.

Lancelot’s eyes softened at the sights of the small village. He found everything—even the most banal details—to be greatly endearing, knowing that Alanna had had been born and raised in such a setting. Even the plowing oxen and the irrigation ditches made him feel sentimental; all because they were in Greensbury, and Alanna was from Greensbury. Thus, the village was clearly something special.

He was eager to see the interior of the manor, and walk through the orchards where Alanna had chased squirrels with her brothers. She had yet to point out where she had chased the goats, but he wanted to see that as well. He wanted to see everything. If she showed him the chamber pot of her girlhood, he would look upon it fondly.

He couldn’t decide what he liked more: seeing the actual town, or seeing Alanna’s face so bright with cheer. He sighed lovingly. How she made his heart ache and throb and beat with all manner of unhealthy irregularities. He had known her for nearly two years now, and although he thought his affections for her had reached a nice, even plateau, there were days like these when he felt himself falling for her even deeper than he could have imagined.

It just so happened that Semya’s sudden greeting was unusual enough to divert Lancelot’s attention away from Alanna. He eyed the brown-haired lad with an uncertain expression on his face. When Bors glanced at him and Alanna, Lancelot merely shrugged in return. The peasant appeared harmless. But it was Lancelot’s assumption that he wanted something from them. Any peasant who would greet knights in such a manner clearly wanted something. Lionel had a similar opinion of this stranger, and eyed him with mild disdain.

“Are you in need of assistance, lad?” Lancelot questioned. He was slightly impatient. This peasant boy was keeping them from descending the valley into Greensbury, a village that had been of interest to Lancelot for two years!

Then he spotted something nearby that may be the source of the lad’s trouble. “Be weary—there’s an adder basking on yonder rock,” he pointed at the coiled snake, only a couple yards away from Semya.

Semya's transformed hair looked to the adder, "Bwah! Adder!" he repeated and jumped back, but only for the adder to strike, biting into the illusion's neck.

One would think that whis was the end, but the adder reared it's head back in disgust. When it bit the peasant boy, the only thing it tasted was monkey hair! Poof! The peasant boy dissappeared, leaving only a single hair to drift down to the ground, "Aww! Dumb adder! You ruined my fun!" cried the real Semya as he emerged from behind a tree.

The adder hissed at Semya and slithered in, believing it had found its real prey. In a lightning quick motion, the adder struck, only to be bonged in the head by Semya's Jangu, "Bad adder!" Semya said, scolding the wild animal as if it were a pet being punished for pooing in the house. Semya stepped around the adder and stopped when the snake struck again. But wait, it stopped short of Semya's neck, because Semya was currently standing on it's tail, "Shoo! Go away!" Semya said, letting his Jangu whack the snake's head again. This time, the adder had had enough, and slithered away.

"Haha! I win!" he cried, as if he had just defeated a mighty champion and then did the most childish thing. He raised his hands up near his head, wiggling his fingers and sticking out his tongue at the retreating adder, "Nyah nyah! Couldn't bite me!" he taunted in a sing song voice. His antics were very comical indeed, but also very much strange. He had done all that intentionally, hoping it would make the others laugh.

The fresh air and cool breeze, and loving caress of the sun graced about Kantus' body as they reached the end of the forest layout they were traveling through. Pure, incorruptible content was the emotion flowing through Kantus' every vein. Kantus was happy. Happy with the weather, happy with glowingly beautiful setting, and most of all, happy with his good friends. Kantus swayed back and forth in a relaxed, pendulous rock as a feint smile littered his face, betraying his emotions.

The past two years have been some of the best of his life. He traveled with his idol Lancelot, and good friends Alanna, Bors, and Lionel since he left the lake that dramatic day. Kantus felt his skill as a knight had improved as well. He was still no match for Lancelot, but Lancelot had taught him much, especially about jousting, a sport he was once poor at but was now relatively decent. Still he preferred to fight on foot, however Kantus took pride in the fact that he was now able to break a lance in a pass when before he could barely hit a target. But most of all he took pride in his companion Lancelot, his actions, his skill, his composure. Lancelot was still Kantus' idol, and he prided the fact that his shield was now blue in stead of green. It made Kantus feel like he was one step closer to becoming like Lancelot.

Kantus took in a deep breath of the wonderful air that filled the area as he gazed upon Alana's home town. The town was beautiful, and much reminded Kantus of his own home village, with the farms and the plows, however his village was smaller, and had no keep to guard it.

Suddenly Kantus' bliss was interrupted by the social commotion of a strange man. This seemed familiar somehow, how the man looking of poor stature had so willingly and friendily stepped forth and halted them. It almost reminded Kantus of his days as a bandit, for he would use similar tactics to halt companies to spring the ambush in the right moment. Kantus' eyes grew ever more perceptive as he looked about the bushes and readied himself for a potential ambush, however he did keep in mind the possibility that the man merely needed help, and so he stayed any overeagerness to show off his sword arm to his idol. In stead he halted his trusty horse Lamina and opened a greeting ear, though kept his wits about him.

However son the odd man was struck in the neck by an adder, and swiftly the man vaporized into the form of a hair. Had this been Kantus' first time seeing a magical experience he would have stood aghast at the display of magical power, but because he had experience in the happenings of magic before, he wasn't supremely surprised, in stead only somewhat shocked.

When the puppet master revealed himself in the odd form of a monkey man, Kantus was taken aback, as he had never seen such a man before. Then, Kantus' face contorted in a strange face as the monkey man had a bout with the adder, and then childishly taunted it as it retreated. Kantus didn't really know what to make of the odd situation, and so he said nothing, merely watching with an estranged face.

Alanna's confused expression had slipped away into one of shock as the strangely friendly peasant not only was bitten by the coiled adder...but then vanished into a single hair! How odd...almost as odd as what appeared to be the peasant's true form. The mock-battle with the dangerous snake pulled a chuckle from the woman, but she shook her head incredulously at the mannerisms of the almost childish 'victor'. An odd one, this.

"You are by no means a civilian of Greensbury," She stated, shaking her head once more as she stared at the seemingly benign being with amusement. "May I inquire as to your name...er...sir?"

Bors was grinning, watching the affronted snake disappear into the grass. He turned to his brother and shook his head, looking once more at the fallen hair, and then back to the one who had conjured it. "Are you un sorcière? Eh...a wizard? C'est magnifique. You are certain zis iz no man of Greenzbury, Madame Alanna? It iz a pity!"

Alanna laughed and shook her head once more. "Nay, certainly not a man of Greensbury. For I would recall such a jovial character, and I can attest that none of the farmers where such memorable garments. Indeed, I cannot think of any such land where your attire is common, sir...may I ask where you hail from?"

"Perhaps 'e iz from ze Holy Lands?" Bors tried, looking to Semya for confirmation. "For I 'ave heard zat there iz much difference between ze dress there and our own."

A scant few miles off from his goal, Armand inhaled deeply and caught the fragrant scent that so strongly permeated from the shire: roses. Many of them, and in all various colors and breeds, no doubt. This was splendid, his plans for the visit involved...indeed, relied heavily upon, the rose garden being heavily in bloom. She always seemed much more cheery when they were.

As Armand and his few companions that had decided to traipse along with him to Rozeshire nudged their steeds back into action and onward towards the place that housed Armand's most valued subject. Of course, he hardly thought of her as such. And he had every intention of making her more than a mere subject. And as his trusty Addane surged forward towards the floral scent, Armand found himself going once more over his planned conversation with the subject in question. He would ease his way out into the garden with her, making casual conversation regarding the state of affairs at Getonsburg, complimenting the skilled manner with which she looked after her own home, perhaps even bring up the status of fair Camelot and her King. Ask if she had spoken recently with Lancelot and his fellows, and by then he hoped that they would be within the gardens and surrounded by the brilliant petals that served a man so well in such predicaments as Armand now found himself in.

A month ago, Armand had turned twenty-one. And though most men his age were still exploring the land as errant knights, Armand was a Lord over several estates, all the while being a devoted knight to the High King. Certain things were expected of a man in his position...in fact, such things had been expected of him for quite some time now. And while he knew precisely which individual he wished to have at his side to help fulfill those expectations...he also knew her feelings about such matters. He knew the number of courtiers who had been turned away by the fair maid. In fact, he had taken the liberty of turning several away for her, before she could even be insulted with their unworthy presence. But now, he would try his hand. And as Rozeshire came into view, he sent a quick but heart-felt prayer to God that he would not join the ever growing list of those who had been shunned.

Dismounting before Addane had come to a complete and hasty stop, Armand quickly handed the steed's reigns over to a stable working, clapping the lad on the shoulder as he confidently glanced about. He hadn't considered until now that he might have to search for his targeted audience, and it put somewhat of a damper on his mind set. He wished to do this quickly (romantically, of course, but quickly) before his nerves dashed back off to Getonsbrg without him. He turned to speak with the stable boy, but he had already hustled off to get Addane settled and have Armand's few things sent off to a guest room. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, Armand wiped his brow with the back of his hand, but looked up sharply as he heard someone call his name.

"Ah, Sir Armand! Do you come seeking Lady Mennah? She should be back soon, would you care to wait for her?" One of the peasant-come-attendants called with a cheery smile upon her face. Armand was generally well liked by women.

But he shook his head, raising one hand to politely refuse the offer. He knew that if he waited for too long, his resolve would fade into nerves, which would make his offer far less appealing. So he headed out away from the stables, and began his search for the fair half-fey. It required a minimal amount of searching, for Rozeshire was small and Mennah stuck out rather nicely in any crowd. When he first saw her, Armand paused in his quick gait to admire her appearance from afar. Remarkably lovely, and such kindness in her eyes when she met her subjects...

"Mennah!" Armand called out, his rich voice filling the space between them as he hurried after her. None of the other villagers seemed to take notice of the hail...for they could not hear it. Only Mennah, with the other half of the charm that allowed Armand to speak, could catch what it was he wished to say. Which was just fine for now.

Mennah had finally found Jackson, and was going speaking to him about his wife’s conditions. She’d recently given birth to twins, and was having a rather hard time recovering. Mennah have made some specially teas that help regain energy, and ordered her to stay in bed to recover. Jackson happily reported that Amanda was in a right bonny state, and is looking forward to getting out of bed. To be cautious she gave the bed sentence one more day, and to make sure to come get her immediately should her condition worsen in any way. Jackson merely smiled and nodded, he had a pair of strapping little boys to look forward to raising, and his wife was recovering. Nothing could dampen the man’s spirits.

And then she heard him. Voice as rich as honey, warm as the summer sun and all together manly. It was Armand, and his wonderful voice she could only hear. She spun around quickly to make sure she’d not been hearing things. And there he stood; he looked like the most wonderful man in the world with strong safe arms and a content welcoming smile. Her face quickly pulled into a beaming smile at the sight of him, and she ran, quickly closing their distance, into his strong arms and placed a soft kiss upon his lips, openly showing how happy she was that he’d come back. After she pulled back from the kiss, she looked into his eyes and smiled warmly up at him.

“Welcome back to Rozeshire Milord, I must admit I’m not at all fond of the time you’re away.” She said warmly to him.

Armand laughed as Mennah fled into his arms, relishing in the way she fit so neatly against him. He allowed himself a moment to marvel at her beauty up close, gently stroking her cheek and thrilling with the softness of it. While he held the deceivingly delicate lady in his arms, he found himself comparing her to the many roses whose scents were wafting through the air. While he was not normally the poetic sort, the comparison was easy enough to make and only made his delight with her being as a whole more complete. As seemed to be usual when they were reunited, his breath caught in his chest for a second and a uncharacteristically helpless smile passed over his face.

"And I must confess, Lady Mennah, nor am I." Finally remembering himself, Armand chuckled and placed another soft kiss on her lips. Though he would have liked to linger there and enjoy the sweetness of her kisses longer, he reminded himself of his self-appointed task, and the seeming need to accomplish it quickly. So he reluctantly released his hold of her, instead grasping her hands and kissing them several times as he met her eyes with adoration in his own.

"Are you yet released from your rounds, Milady? I do not wish to interrupt your stately affairs, but I was hoping that I might borrow Rozeshire's Lady for a moment. Would you perhaps join me in a stroll through your ever beauteous gardens?" His heartbeat quickened as he attempted to remain unruffled while easing into the moment. It occurred to him that she might reject the request, having more important business to attend to with her people. What would he do then? The small circular object tucked into a small pouch in his tunic was beginning to feel very heavy indeed.

Lancelot was ready to jump off his steed when the adder struck at the peasant lad’s throat. He had never seen an adder jump like that, but besides that, the boy needed immediate attention.

But then the snake began acting strangely and before he knew it, the boy had vanished into thin air… or to be more correct, into a thin hair. Although the slim vestige was so small that Lancelot didn’t even notice it.

Lancelot had never seen a primate before, and so he didn’t know what to think when Semya showed himself—not only dressed exotically, but covered with fur in odd places and with hands for feet. And what was that long appendage that could be seen originating at his rear? A prehensile tail, of all things! Very strange—he had never seen anything like this beast man.

Not only his appearance, but the way the monkey man light-heartedly defended himself against the adder with his staff, and subsequently reprimanded and taunted the snake… was truly odd, although effective, for amazingly Semya had avoided being bit by an extraordinarily aggressive adder. The sight of the beast man giving the retreating snake a raspberry—was oddly amusing, and made Lancelot snort with repressed laughter.

Lionel rolled his eyes. He would not give Semya any satisfaction by laughing at his infantile buffoonery. He showed, in his look to his grinning brother—that he was not at all amused.

Then Bors suggested that the hairy man was a sorcerer, and Lancelot seconded the assumption. Clearly there was magic at work, although Lancelot had never seen a wizard that looked quite like Semya. The only similarity to Merlin were the whiskers on his face—although quite the different sort of whiskers.

He shared in Alanna’s amusement, and Bors’s deduction that this furry stranger was from the Holy Lands. Surely he was from somewhere far away. Indeed, his attire was most foreign.

“He iz either an infidel or a demon—not company we should keep,” Lionel spoke gruffly, drawing his sword.

“Lionel,” Lancelot said in a disagreeing tone. “You musn’t draw your sword on every stranger you come upon, coz. We have not even learned this amiable fellow’s name yet. I’m sure he has an acceptable purpose for roaming our fair island.” He turned back to Semya, expecting to hear it.

Mennah smiled up at Armand, delighted by the idea to spend some time alone with him. She marveled at how impeccable his timing was, for she’d just finished her morning rounds and found all was well. She grinned up at him as she felt his nervousness. What he was nervous about she was not sure, but she knew she’d find out sooner or later. For now she was happy holding his hand and staying by his side.

“I don’t believe I shall be missed for the moment. A walk through the gardens sounds lovely. They’re quite beautiful this year, especially for a late blooming.” Mennah said weaving her fingers with his. Ready to leave when he was.

“How is Gentonsburg faring? I haven’t been there since you were named successor last summer. I do hope your cousins Gabon and Renton weren’t too sore about it though. Renton especially didn’t seem pleased, but at least they were both given Lordship of an estate.” She remembered the other two boys as well from childhood here, and found she got on quite well with Gabon. He’d not changed much in personality over the years, still the good natured and easy going lad (though now a full grown man). Renton however, she found almost a natural disliking for. He had changed tremendously over the years. Unlike most of his family who’d been a noble good natured bunch, Renton’s personality was quite hideous. He was a handsome man aye, but quite conceded and so arrogant to the point she’d found him revolting. Worst yet, he’d made advances at Ralcia and herself when Armand had not been watching. She’d flatted him of course and threatened him against doing so again, but his name still left a bad taste in her mouth. Luckily for his sake had not attempted to do so again, and to her satisfaction, avoided them. It was for that reason she’d not told Armand. She didn’t wish to start a feud within the family, and since Renton had wisely refrained from such acts again, there was no reason to start trouble. Still the memory of that awful man made her cuddle closer to Armand as they walked toward the Garden.

Semya clapped a bit when he heard slight laughter... ok, maybe a chuckle followed by a snort. But hey, it was better than nothing. He was silent, for once, as they seemed to speak among themselves.

One of them suggested that Semya was a wizard. Nope. Semya was just a monkey that learned shape shifting and martial arts. That same person also suggested that Semya was from the Holy Lands.

"Sorry. Don't know what the Holy Lands are!" he said with a clueless shrug, "I'm from the East. Faaaaaar east." he said, dramatically emphasizing the word 'far'. Lancelot made the most accurate guess, when he thought Semya was a 'beast man'. Monkeys are beasts.

"I'm Semya! The Monkey King!" he said, telling them the title he had given himself. He figured since he was the only monkey capable of shape shifting and martial arts, that immediately made him their king. Of course, that was just Semya's opinion.

"You like laughing? I love laughter! It cures anything! And its fun!" he said, then decided to laugh for no particular reason besides the fact that he enjoyed doing it.

Armand flashed his dazzling grin as Mennah accepted his invitation, and tried to contain his excitement as he led her forwards towards the sweet smelling maze. He shocked himself by not stumbling over his words as they made conversation, his mind racing as he attempted to go over his plan of attack once again. He would get her into the garden, list her many virtues, remembering to stare at her lovely green eyes rather than her ever-tempting lips, and ease into the suggestion before dropping down onto his knee and resorting to the begging it would surely take for this independent woman to consent. Aye, a sound plan.

"Getonsburg fairs well, Milady. The winter stores lasted well past the snow's melting point, and there seem to be a surplus of ewes and cattle giving birth. My cousins...Gabon was pleased with my ascension, let us leave it as such." Armand's mouth curved into a wry smile. Indeed, Raton had been far from satisfied with the former Lord's decision concerning his successor. And he had made it loudly known while Armand was being instated. And their parting words (gestures, on Armand's part), as Raton skulked away to his own lands, had been most unfriendly. But he did not wish to bother his lady with such trivial matters. Raton was gone, and had no place in causing further strife for the new Lord of Getonsburg.

"Have you spoken with Sir Lancelot and his companions lately?" Armand asked, smoothly switching the subject. "The last I saw the lot of them was last summer in my dear new home. But you occasionally speak with them through your glass orb, do you not? I hope you find them well?"

Though he had promised open doors to Lancelot and his companions should they make their way near Getonsburg, holding them all (even his former boyhood rival) dear to his heart as brothers and sister, their ventures seemed to have kept them in different regions. As such, he was fairly clueless as to their status.

But by now, Lancelot and his riding fellows slipped out of Armand's mind, along with the rest of the world. For he and the beautiful creature his delicate hand was laced so perfectly into his much rougher large one had reached the rose gardens. A few more mindless exchanges later, and the couple had worked their way deeply enough into the labyrinth of flowers that the village sounds of Rozeshire had faded into the distance. All that could be heard was the gentle whisper of a northern wind brushing along the rose petals, and their own mingling timbres. There would be no more perfect moment.

"Sweet," Armand suddenly stopped his already slow gait, pulling Mennah to a halt along with him. He held both of her hands in his, squaring his shoulders and meeting her gaze ardently. "Sweet Mennah, my love...you are by far the most perfect creature to ever grace God's earth, and certainly a blessing to my life."

Lifting one hand to gingerly brush her cheek, Armand's gaze softened. He continued. "You are resilient, gentle, sincere, and more beautiful than any setting or rising sun. You give of yourself to all who require aid, and I marvel at your genuine caring for each and every one of even your smallest subjects. I have known you since we were both but children, and yet it was only two years ago that I realized what a gem had been cultured in Rozeshire. I love you, most passionately!"

His nerves had dissolved by now as he worked himself up with the planned compliments, his heart racing within his chest and his grip tightening gently as he pressed her hands to his breast. "My dearest Mennah, you complete my soul. You improve me as a man, and I shall not be content until...until..."

He practically collapsed onto one knee, still gripping her hands and now gazing up at her most imploringly. "I beg of you, sweet Mennah, end my suffering and consent to be my wife!"

After two years of being trained by Roryn, Mabuz felt that he had a good handle on what it took to hunt and work with wood and defend himself—to be all-together self-sufficient. He could feasibly live on his own… but there was one thing that kept him from yet venturing out. Roryn, Maraud and Aurora felt very much like his family. He knew that Roryn had lived alone for fifteen years—but Mabuz didn’t feel like he had the capacity to go alone for that long. Even with the company he did have, he still felt lonely occasionally.

Especially… lonely for a female companion. Living in the same house as a happy couple, he couldn’t help but feel like a third wheel. He wished there was some way he could meet someone. Occasionally Maraud would have fairy friends over, and they were all very lovely, but… for some reason he could not feel tender towards them, perhaps because they were too brazen—and reminded him too much of the Lake ladies.

He thought he had gotten over Mennah. After all, two years is quite a while to recover from heartache. And he really hadn’t known her very long. But sometimes he still thought about her, and wondered what she was doing at that moment…

Of course, these were all the negative emotions he had been living with. He could reflect on his upbringing in the Lake with some clarity now, and realized that his mother had greatly wronged him. She had stunted him emotionally, and so he suffered in his ability to love. But all that was very negative, and he tried to push his grudges aside. Really, his life was very peaceful, and he was happy.

That afternoon, he was meditatively scraping a deer hide to make into leather. As he worked, he spoke to Roryn in a thoughtful tone. “How have I been doing, Roryn? I mean, after all this time, I’ve learned a great deal, but do you think I could do well… if I were on my own? And is there any way I could live in a village? Would the human people accept me… do you think?” It was the same question he had asked Alanna, but had never received an answer. Would he be accepted? Would people accept him even though his mother had not?

At that point, Maraud came out, carrying Aurora in one arm, and an empty basket in the other. She had a light veil over her hair, shading her face, and a little cap on Aurora to protect her from the sun. She frowned in dislike when she saw that they were tanning leather. It was such a malodorous process she could very much do without. She would even go without shoes if it meant she didn’t have to smell them rubbing dung on the hides…

“Aurora and I are going out to gather flowers. You are welcome to come along if you aren’t too preoccupied with your tanning,” she said to them, standing a good couple yards away from them. Flowers would be especially beneficial to have in the house to counteract the unpleasantness of tanning. Aurora reached her hands out to Roryn and chirped, “Daddy!”

Mabuz set down his knife and turned to Roryn. He wouldn’t mind a brief diversion from his chores. “Perhaps we can talk while we go along with Maraud and Aurora?”

Mennah was quite content with the change of topic Armand offered as he switched the topic to their good friends. She did try to talk to them when ever they weren’t busy, but the last time she’d gotten an answer through the crystal had been a week ago. She casually informed Armand about the groups travels and how hey were planning a stop in Greensbury. They continued through the garden, talking about similar topics until they found themselves in the middle of the garden.

Then the most magically peculiar thing happened. Armand, looking quite flustered and his nervousness flaring, started spurting off complements, each turning her face a different shade of pink. At the end of his flattering speech she’d been ready to tell him what a gem he was as well and that his complements flattered her, but oh there was more. He went down upon one nee and asked her to marry him! Naturally her eyes widened with shock at first, but they quickly melted into loving adoring ones, and she bent down next to him.

“I would be most honored to marry the most wonderful man in the world. I love you with all my heart Sir Armand the Bold, and if you’ll have me, I’d gladly be your wife.” Mennah said hugging him and bringing her lips to his in a long passionate kiss. She could hardly believe this was happening, and almost expected to wake up from this beautiful dream, and yet it didn’t. This was real, and she could feel Armand’s emotions of passion and love burning as strongly as hers, and with the scent of the roses around them, it was the perfect moment.

"Vraiment, Lionel, zat iz not necesaire," Bors reprimanded his brother, his voice laced with embarrassment. He faced the 'monkey king' (not knowing what a monkey was that would need a king) apologetically, shaking his head. "Pardon moi, Monsieur...euh...Roi de Monkey. Mon frere iz a little bit, how you say, aggressive. And my companions and myself, we are on course to see Madamoiselle Alanna's home village, Greenzbury. So please, pardon-nous for ze brief converzation."

This seemed the politest way to excuse the party from the unusual and amusing (for some of them) meeting with the 'monkey' king. And clearing his throat and nodding politely, Bors nudged his steed forward down the hill and towards the sprawling village. Alanna smiled apologetically towards Semya as well and followed Bors, guiding her charger around his so as to lead the way down.

-----

Armand had never known true joy until that moment. Once the kiss ended, he rose to his feet and scooped Mennah into his arms, emitting a loud whoop as he spun her around and laughed. Then he kissed her again, before finally setting her down and excitedly digging in his tunic for the token he had received from his widowed mother. He had at first refused, suggesting she give it to one of his many sisters, but the noble woman was stubborn and insisted that they would eventually receive their own, so Armand might as well take it to give to the one daughter-in-law she would have.

"You shall not regret this, Milady!" Armand gushed as he pulled out a small, but delicately beautiful ring. It was a deep gold, and bedecked with numerous tiny sapphires that twinkled in the sun like miniature stars. On the top of the ring was a single ruby, gleaming as though the gem itself was pleased to be handed off to another noble lady. "This ring was given to my mother by my father, and to his mother by his father, and so on for many generations passed. Many couples have outlasted the years with this in their union, I feel it shall do just as well for us!"

After their passionate kiss was ended Mennah gave a dazed and content smile meant only for him. They were getting married! She could barely process farther than the glorious fact they would be together always. He would always be her wonderful noble and loveably stubborn knight, and she’d always be his lady. They would share the same wonderful life her parents had briefly held filled with love and happiness. The thought alone of spending such a life with Armand was enough to make her melt like butter in his arms.

He then added to the joyous moment by scooping her up in his arms and spinning them around with his whoops of joy. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on as they spun, and laughed along with him. Oh how she wished she could remain in his strong loving embraces forever. So it was at first a tad disappointing when he placed back down on the ground, however he surprised her again by pulling out he single most beautiful ring she had ever seen. The sapphires and ruby complemented the gold band so beautifully, and best of all, it reminded her of Armand completely. It was a treasure she could scarcely believe was being given to her, just as she could hardly believe God had been so wonderful as to send her a man she could love so deeply.

“It’s so lovely Armand, I’m sure it will help make our marriage grand, for I could never feel any regret as long as the man I marry is you.” Mennah said holding his hand and gazing with open admiration and adornment for the ring and her new intended.