Just as it saddened Alanna to part with Bors and Lionel, so it also hurt Lancelot. He loved his cousins dearly—it could not be said enough. Bors and Lionel were of such opposite temperments, and yet, when brought together with Lancelot and Alanna, there was such a charming group dynamic between them all—he was sure it would not be the same without them.
And it wouldn’t, because he would be alone with Alanna. Since Alanna’s voice was gone at the time that they departed from his cousins, he did a lot of thinking to himself as he sat in the saddle, pondering about what this would mean—being alone with Alanna.
Occasionally, one would see a knight escorting a lone lady, for whatever purpose, and it seemed to be acceptable. And while riding in the daytime, Lancelot did feel that his accompanying Alanna was also acceptable, and he rode at ease, proud to be beside his ladylove.
But that evening, after the sun had set and they had finished eating and busying themselves with making camp—suddenly a feeling of tension arose in him. He was sitting on a stump, sharpening his dagger by the fire. Alanna was close by. He was thinking a dangerous thought—something irreverent, and unlike him. He returned his knife to his belt and clasped his hands together, turning his head to Alanna and opening his mouth with the will to speak. He was encouraged by the private intimacy between them—the fact that they were completely alone; no Bors or Lionel or Kantus, who had left them a while back. There was no rush of water nearby, so it could be assured that Vivienne would not surprise them again with her sharp voice. They were not even near any major towns or villages. Even the animals seemed to have hushed and retreated deep into their burrows and thickets.
He didn’t bother to dance around his provocative thought. Instead, he opened it with a startling suddenness. “Alanna… have you ever wondered… why we must be chaste?”
He paused. He had posed the question innocently enough, mostly with the help of his high-reaching brows, which gave his face a look of great openness. But he was sure to expound:
“I know, the Lord commands it, but I do wonder—why does the Lord command it? If you think of the Lake, the fey had no value for celibacy at all. And nor did most of the errant knights who visited them! I do not like to think of it, but even the bold knights who taught me had succumbed to fornication with the fey. And yet—they didn’t seem to suffer for it. They were still happy, good people—for the most part. Of course, that’s not accounting for what may await their souls after death. But Alanna, I myself have sinned grievously. I have looked lustfully with mine eyes, and as the Lord would condemn, I have committed adultery with you in my heart. That alone will destine me for purgatory, I’m sure.”
He sighed a little as he looked down at his feet. Then he brought his eyes up to Alanna again, and a slight hopefulness emerged in his eyes. “Of course, the true sin of the fey is that they had no fidelity for their bedmates. So, I would understand that earthly love be what the Lord reserves for marriage, because there must be a true commitment present. But, Alanna, we have expressed our commitment to each other already, not unlike we were married.” He laid his gauntleted hand to her mother’s pendant that he wore—both gifts that seemed to portray her parent’s posthumous approval of their love.
“And so I still wonder—why be chaste? One reason would be to avoid having illegitimate children, I know, but… I don’t believe that we would love a child any less if he—or she—was conceived out of wedlock. Even if it would bring us horrible shame, I would never disown a son—or daughter—of my own, for whatever reason.”
He hushed at that moment, reflecting uneasily on why he was questioning his morals. Was it because he wanted Alanna to agree—because he could not wait any longer? Because he was finally, truly alone with her—more alone with her than he had ever been before, since there was not another living soul around for miles—and he knew that they could get away with it? And it just seemed unfair sometimes, that the fey and their knights loved each other with such freedom, and didn’t seem to care a thing about impurity and infidelity and bastard children. Two years—he groaned to himself. And he had already decided that he was to be a knight, not a monk. And most of the knights he had met, perhaps only excluding his cousins, had made no vow to chastity. But it was easy for his cousins—they didn’t have ladies that they had loved for years on end!
What if Vivienne is right? What if she was right when she told him that love trumps honor, and without the free expression of love, a person’s soul will wither and pain? The Christian God says that goodness is abstaining from earthly vices, but Vivienne’s Goddess says that goodness is immersing oneself in earthly pleasures. Which was the truth?
No, Vivienne was wrong. She had done wrongful things—most certainly she was wrong about her general view of morality: indulgence, hedonism, debauchery. Lancelot’s head was spinning. He was surely having a moment of weakness. The words began to form in his clouded mind regarding how to retract everything he had just said. But there was still that youthful rebelliousness lingering in him, which delayed any more words from him, until he heard what Alanna said first.
Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by daughterofdon on Fri Nov 07, 2008 9:06 pm
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by daughterofdon on Fri Nov 07, 2008 10:01 pm
Maraud watched curiously as Mennah’s northern kin people entered the castle—two ladies, three men and one child. They looked strong and large, and proved themselves to be a bit on the rougher side of manners as one of them made insult to Mennah in their native tongue. Maraud smiled proudly as Mennah cleverly defended herself in the same tongue. It was enough to see where this was going; so she quietly slipped away and let Mennah meet with her cousins without her unneeded presence.
----
Mabuz’s fears had quickly abated once Clarisin showed that she was not affronted by his and Aurora’s heritage. He watched her movements—all polite and elegant, and marked by no ill feelings at all. He found himself smiling with relief as Liam and Aurora continued to play.
But he couldn’t relax for too long. Clarisin happened to ask about Aurora’s mother. She assumed that she was married to Roryn. Mabuz hesitated before answering; perhaps the lady was a Christian and would be startled that Aurora’s parents were not married, and in fact, didn’t look to be married any time in the future.
But before he decided on a reply, Maraud happened to walk into the hall of her own accord.
“Why, here she is—Aurora’s fairy mother, Maraud,” Mabuz told Clarisin. Maraud ambled over and looked with mild surprise at the lady sitting next to Mabuz. Then she noticed that her daughter was giggling and closely following a dark-haired toddler around the table. She put two-and-two together quick enough, and devised that the lady was the toddler’s mother.
“Maraud, this is Lady Clarisin of Getonsburg,” Mabuz introduced. “And that is her son Liam, playing with Aurora.”
Maraud gave the new acquaintance a guarded smile. Underlying it was the natural distrust and rivalry that fey women held for human ladies of great beauty—and in Maraud’s case, possessed a child like her own. She also had her intuition, and discerned that the fair lady from Getonsburg had something to do with Mennah’s earlier upset with Armand. And then there was the plain fact that Mabuz was attracted to the lady. Maraud could sense it as clearly as if she could smell the very pheromones that wafted between them.
“What a splendid son you have, Lady Clarisin,” Maraud said, gazing a moment at the little boy. She may not have been basking in fondness for the mother, but she certainly held nothing against the son, and was even pleased that Aurora had met a friend her own age. It was one thing Aurora had been deprived of—interaction with other babies. And as Aurora went about with this other child, she shined with much happiness and growth.
Maraud made notice of Roryn, and gingerly lowered herself to sit upon his knee, while resting her hand on his shoulder. She looked at Clarisin again, with the smallest hint of haughtiness on her pleasing face. “Who is your husband, Lady Clarisin? What might be his occupation?” she asked in a politely inquiring tone, but feeling smugly assured that the lady had no husband at all.
----
Mabuz’s fears had quickly abated once Clarisin showed that she was not affronted by his and Aurora’s heritage. He watched her movements—all polite and elegant, and marked by no ill feelings at all. He found himself smiling with relief as Liam and Aurora continued to play.
But he couldn’t relax for too long. Clarisin happened to ask about Aurora’s mother. She assumed that she was married to Roryn. Mabuz hesitated before answering; perhaps the lady was a Christian and would be startled that Aurora’s parents were not married, and in fact, didn’t look to be married any time in the future.
But before he decided on a reply, Maraud happened to walk into the hall of her own accord.
“Why, here she is—Aurora’s fairy mother, Maraud,” Mabuz told Clarisin. Maraud ambled over and looked with mild surprise at the lady sitting next to Mabuz. Then she noticed that her daughter was giggling and closely following a dark-haired toddler around the table. She put two-and-two together quick enough, and devised that the lady was the toddler’s mother.
“Maraud, this is Lady Clarisin of Getonsburg,” Mabuz introduced. “And that is her son Liam, playing with Aurora.”
Maraud gave the new acquaintance a guarded smile. Underlying it was the natural distrust and rivalry that fey women held for human ladies of great beauty—and in Maraud’s case, possessed a child like her own. She also had her intuition, and discerned that the fair lady from Getonsburg had something to do with Mennah’s earlier upset with Armand. And then there was the plain fact that Mabuz was attracted to the lady. Maraud could sense it as clearly as if she could smell the very pheromones that wafted between them.
“What a splendid son you have, Lady Clarisin,” Maraud said, gazing a moment at the little boy. She may not have been basking in fondness for the mother, but she certainly held nothing against the son, and was even pleased that Aurora had met a friend her own age. It was one thing Aurora had been deprived of—interaction with other babies. And as Aurora went about with this other child, she shined with much happiness and growth.
Maraud made notice of Roryn, and gingerly lowered herself to sit upon his knee, while resting her hand on his shoulder. She looked at Clarisin again, with the smallest hint of haughtiness on her pleasing face. “Who is your husband, Lady Clarisin? What might be his occupation?” she asked in a politely inquiring tone, but feeling smugly assured that the lady had no husband at all.
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by Jadeling Hawkins on Fri Nov 07, 2008 11:01 pm
By the setting of the sun, Alanna's voice was nearly fully back in her throat. And her entire being shown with the radiance that came with true joy, for she was entirely pleased with her current company and the time (though most of it had been silent so far) that they had been granted alone, at last. And though she was normally a clever being, Alanna had not yet thought (directly) about the temptations posed by their new situation. She did, however, notice a sudden change in the air once both of their hands had found a lack of work. It was a sort of electric feeling, as though lightening had been caught in a bottle and shaken about and the cork keeping it in was being toyed with. She recognized this feeling from a few other moments in their lives...and she had to fight to keep herself from staring across the fire at her lover and inviting any sort of trouble.
Consequently, he offered it anyway.
Alanna listened politely to what was clearly an embarrassing question for Lancelot, despite the fact that he attempted to make his appearance exceedingly innocent. She did not interrupt, but by the time he had concluded his opening to the conversation her face was redder than it had ever been. Lord, if he were only less handsome! She heard the thought pass through her head, but was certain it was not hers. It was a valid point, though. For if he could have been born with a more crooked nose, or with brows that were a touch thicker, or even with ears a little lower on his head, Alanna might have felt more comfortable having such conversations with him. No doubt he wished for her to respond that yes, of course they should always be chaste, and no, she had never doubted the decision. This could have even been a test, for all she knew...Lancelot's way of ensuring that he would have a pure bride. And yet, she could not answer with a lie, for she had always tried to be honest with Lancelot and by now he would know if she were holding back.
And the truth of it was, she had indeed wondered many times.
After all, they were a man and a woman. They had served and protected one another for longer than many other couples did before engaging in the more passionate acts. They were in love, truly and deeply. They were loyal to one another. And they were to be married. They had already proven their devotion to each other, why shouldn't they indulge in the pleasures of the flesh, which so many other couples shared long before having reached a level of commitment even narrowly resembling that of Lancelot and herself? Certainly, it had been brought up before. Never in this direct manner, but on late nights when one or the other would quickly pull away from a kiss that had lingered to long. Or even earlier just that week, with the matter of Lancelot's accidental placing of his hand upon her breast.
Alanna could not have denied that she felt, quite strongly--burningly, in fact--the urge to at last grant Lancelot what he had originally quested after in vain two years before when they had been unfortunate enough to be forced into a bath together. Then, they had been young, both in years and in their love. Now, they were both older, more mature, and their romance felt immovable. Nearly tangible. And the desire was there. But Alanna was terrified to admit it...not only for fear that Lancelot might think less of her for showing such a weakness of spirit (after only just recently praising her for her chastity, no less!) but also in the face of all the potential problems that might arise for them if they did lie together. So she decided, after a lengthy pause during which her face at last eased back into its normal color, to answer him slowly and thoughtfully in hopes of ending with them still on decent terms.
Taking a deep breath, Alanna rose up from where she had been trying to stitch Lancelot's surcoat back into its former glory and went quietly to sit beside him on the ground next to the stump. She had thought that this conversation ought not to take place with a notable distance between them, and that it would be easier for both of them if they were close enough to see more directly into one another's eyes. But once she found herself leaning one arm gently across his knees, and felt the warmth of his leg pressing against her side, she regretted the decision. But to suddenly pull back as if she felt there were a thin line of fire between them would surely wound his feelings, so she stayed put and struggled to keep her voice even as though Bors and Lionel were still sitting directly across the fire.
"I...I confess I have wondered, aye, why we must...must remain chaste," Alanna rubbed her free hand, the one baring his ring, against her shoulder to stop it from trembling. "And in all truth, any sin you have committed, I have committed with you. But...but you are a good and decent man, Lancelot! And I don't think that, even if..."
Her cheeks warmed again and she flicked her eyes up at him through shyly lowered lashes, then looked away to the dancing flames nearby. "What I mean to say is...I believe that you are correct, that any fault in the fey, or in errant knights, lies in their unwillingness to devote themselves to one person. I have only ever..." She stopped herself from saying 'desired,' for that word sounded sinful even on her tongue, "...longed for one man, and that man is yourself. And I wish to make myself yours...your wife."
She realized she was not making things sound any better or more innocent with her words than they felt in her heart, and so blushingly she switched tactics. "There are many reasons, I am sure...I could never dislike a child of mine so long as it were yours...and, yes, it is somewhat as though we are wedded already, by the standards of...of even some of the villages we have trailed through, where there is no priest to join a couple and they are joined by their words alone..."
Alanna cleared her throat, catching herself rationalizing the forbidden again, and added in an almost defeated tone, "Lancelot, I have only ever wished for your happiness. And I thought that you desired to...to have me as a pure woman, on our wedding night?"
After a moment, with her heart abusing her ribs, Alanna shot another furtive glance towards her betrothed and began to nervously fiddle with a lock of her long hair. "...Is it not so, my beloved?"
Consequently, he offered it anyway.
Alanna listened politely to what was clearly an embarrassing question for Lancelot, despite the fact that he attempted to make his appearance exceedingly innocent. She did not interrupt, but by the time he had concluded his opening to the conversation her face was redder than it had ever been. Lord, if he were only less handsome! She heard the thought pass through her head, but was certain it was not hers. It was a valid point, though. For if he could have been born with a more crooked nose, or with brows that were a touch thicker, or even with ears a little lower on his head, Alanna might have felt more comfortable having such conversations with him. No doubt he wished for her to respond that yes, of course they should always be chaste, and no, she had never doubted the decision. This could have even been a test, for all she knew...Lancelot's way of ensuring that he would have a pure bride. And yet, she could not answer with a lie, for she had always tried to be honest with Lancelot and by now he would know if she were holding back.
And the truth of it was, she had indeed wondered many times.
After all, they were a man and a woman. They had served and protected one another for longer than many other couples did before engaging in the more passionate acts. They were in love, truly and deeply. They were loyal to one another. And they were to be married. They had already proven their devotion to each other, why shouldn't they indulge in the pleasures of the flesh, which so many other couples shared long before having reached a level of commitment even narrowly resembling that of Lancelot and herself? Certainly, it had been brought up before. Never in this direct manner, but on late nights when one or the other would quickly pull away from a kiss that had lingered to long. Or even earlier just that week, with the matter of Lancelot's accidental placing of his hand upon her breast.
Alanna could not have denied that she felt, quite strongly--burningly, in fact--the urge to at last grant Lancelot what he had originally quested after in vain two years before when they had been unfortunate enough to be forced into a bath together. Then, they had been young, both in years and in their love. Now, they were both older, more mature, and their romance felt immovable. Nearly tangible. And the desire was there. But Alanna was terrified to admit it...not only for fear that Lancelot might think less of her for showing such a weakness of spirit (after only just recently praising her for her chastity, no less!) but also in the face of all the potential problems that might arise for them if they did lie together. So she decided, after a lengthy pause during which her face at last eased back into its normal color, to answer him slowly and thoughtfully in hopes of ending with them still on decent terms.
Taking a deep breath, Alanna rose up from where she had been trying to stitch Lancelot's surcoat back into its former glory and went quietly to sit beside him on the ground next to the stump. She had thought that this conversation ought not to take place with a notable distance between them, and that it would be easier for both of them if they were close enough to see more directly into one another's eyes. But once she found herself leaning one arm gently across his knees, and felt the warmth of his leg pressing against her side, she regretted the decision. But to suddenly pull back as if she felt there were a thin line of fire between them would surely wound his feelings, so she stayed put and struggled to keep her voice even as though Bors and Lionel were still sitting directly across the fire.
"I...I confess I have wondered, aye, why we must...must remain chaste," Alanna rubbed her free hand, the one baring his ring, against her shoulder to stop it from trembling. "And in all truth, any sin you have committed, I have committed with you. But...but you are a good and decent man, Lancelot! And I don't think that, even if..."
Her cheeks warmed again and she flicked her eyes up at him through shyly lowered lashes, then looked away to the dancing flames nearby. "What I mean to say is...I believe that you are correct, that any fault in the fey, or in errant knights, lies in their unwillingness to devote themselves to one person. I have only ever..." She stopped herself from saying 'desired,' for that word sounded sinful even on her tongue, "...longed for one man, and that man is yourself. And I wish to make myself yours...your wife."
She realized she was not making things sound any better or more innocent with her words than they felt in her heart, and so blushingly she switched tactics. "There are many reasons, I am sure...I could never dislike a child of mine so long as it were yours...and, yes, it is somewhat as though we are wedded already, by the standards of...of even some of the villages we have trailed through, where there is no priest to join a couple and they are joined by their words alone..."
Alanna cleared her throat, catching herself rationalizing the forbidden again, and added in an almost defeated tone, "Lancelot, I have only ever wished for your happiness. And I thought that you desired to...to have me as a pure woman, on our wedding night?"
After a moment, with her heart abusing her ribs, Alanna shot another furtive glance towards her betrothed and began to nervously fiddle with a lock of her long hair. "...Is it not so, my beloved?"
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by daughterofdon on Fri Nov 07, 2008 11:42 pm
Elaine frowned with concentration as she scrutinized Marrik’s face with her eyes. He claimed that he did not know a Sir Lancelot. She would have accepted that answer—even preferred it—if she could not tell that he was plainly lying. The way his eyes had widened when she mentioned the knight’s name, and his telltale shudder, his pauses in his speech. He knew Sir Lancelot, but for some reason he felt that he had to lie about it!
Why must everything be a secret with Marrik? When she was not in his presence, she groaned to herself in frustration, thinking about all the times he would not tell her what she asked. She still did not know the basic facts about him—where he was born, who his parents were, how he gained ownership of his castle. All she knew was his first name—Marrik—with no title, no place of birth, no reference to any family at all.
In retaliation, she wanted to close her mouth and refuse to tell him her own secret. She wanted to snub him and turn her back away and pretend to go to sleep.
And yet, she cared for him, despite his stubborn secrets. She cared for him a great deal… That was what goaded her on to continue about Sir Lancelot.
“Well, whatever you know about Sir Lancelot is of importance to me, Marrik,” Elaine said, making it known that she caught his fib. She folded her hands patiently in her lap and continued. “You see, his family line is full of holy people, much like my own. My father, King Pelles, often reminds me of how I am descended from St. Joseph of Arimathea, the blessed man who brought Christianity to Britain. My father also claims that there is a prophesy that Sir Lancelot’s lineage and my own lineage are destined to cross… meaning that I am to bear his child one day. Our son, as the prophesy details, will grow to become the holiest knight of all Christendom—he will be the one to find the Grail. It is a great honor, I know… I cannot imagine having a son of greater merits. But, you see, I have never met this Sir Lancelot before, and the prophesy was meant to be kept a secret from me, I suppose until the day he comes to our castle. Still, I found out about it… and it is something that troubles me.”
She looked at him, taking notice that he was bare-chested beneath his blanket. Both of them were quickly becoming rain soaked. She tried to quell her shivering, which seemed to stem not from the wet cold, but from her confession. She had not told anyone about the prophesy before—it suddenly filled her with both unease and relief to do so now.
Why must everything be a secret with Marrik? When she was not in his presence, she groaned to herself in frustration, thinking about all the times he would not tell her what she asked. She still did not know the basic facts about him—where he was born, who his parents were, how he gained ownership of his castle. All she knew was his first name—Marrik—with no title, no place of birth, no reference to any family at all.
In retaliation, she wanted to close her mouth and refuse to tell him her own secret. She wanted to snub him and turn her back away and pretend to go to sleep.
And yet, she cared for him, despite his stubborn secrets. She cared for him a great deal… That was what goaded her on to continue about Sir Lancelot.
“Well, whatever you know about Sir Lancelot is of importance to me, Marrik,” Elaine said, making it known that she caught his fib. She folded her hands patiently in her lap and continued. “You see, his family line is full of holy people, much like my own. My father, King Pelles, often reminds me of how I am descended from St. Joseph of Arimathea, the blessed man who brought Christianity to Britain. My father also claims that there is a prophesy that Sir Lancelot’s lineage and my own lineage are destined to cross… meaning that I am to bear his child one day. Our son, as the prophesy details, will grow to become the holiest knight of all Christendom—he will be the one to find the Grail. It is a great honor, I know… I cannot imagine having a son of greater merits. But, you see, I have never met this Sir Lancelot before, and the prophesy was meant to be kept a secret from me, I suppose until the day he comes to our castle. Still, I found out about it… and it is something that troubles me.”
She looked at him, taking notice that he was bare-chested beneath his blanket. Both of them were quickly becoming rain soaked. She tried to quell her shivering, which seemed to stem not from the wet cold, but from her confession. She had not told anyone about the prophesy before—it suddenly filled her with both unease and relief to do so now.
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by Jadeling Hawkins on Fri Nov 07, 2008 11:55 pm
Clarisin's lovely face made no major shift in emotion with the sudden appearance of the beautiful Maraud. If anything, her eyes became a touch colder, for she recognized the disdain and challenge in Maraud's sweeping gaze. Clarisin lifted her chin to meet Maraud's eyes evenly, and she sat in the humble chair and her fading gown as though she were a queen in a throne. Clarisin rarely got on well with other women, for one reason or another. But this was the mother of Aurora, whom Liam seemed to like a great deal (judging by the happy squeals her son emit every now and then, and the cheerful manner with which he babbled 'come'on, 'Rora!' every now and then). And Clarisin could be civil to even such a haughty looking woman as this if she had somehow managed to produce a little one that Liam was not afraid to play with.
"It is my pleasure to meet you, Lady Maraud," Clarisin greeted softly, inclining her head in a show of respect. After all, it was likely that Maraud, as the wife (so Clarisin assumed) of a man who remained so silent and regal-like as Sir Roryn, was a lady of high stature. Maraud commented on the nature of Clarisin's son, and the woman shifted her gaze over to the happy little boy. "Thank you, Lady Maraud. And I gladly return the compliment to your daughter. She is truly a beautiful girl."
Maraud made her way over to sit with Sir Roryn, and Clarisin made no effort to acknowledge the suggested ownership of the man. She had not come to Rozeshire to be bothered with more than one noble man, and Sir Roryn hardly appealed to her. It did interest her, however, that Maraud shot a peculiar look to the younger Sir Mabuz. She pondered for a moment if the two fey were related somehow (which made sense, as Mabuz seemed to view Aurora as an uncle would a lovely niece, and both were of fey heritage) and if Maraud simply disliked seeing her kinsman being neighborly to a member of a lower class. Surely that was it.
And then Maraud asked her innocent question. A woman in Clarisin's position might have balked, or sweetly offered up a lie. At least some hesitation might have been expected. But Clarisin herself did not miss a beat, and lifted her delicate chin with a certain lack of shame and an abundance of pride. "I have no husband, Lady Maraud. Liam's father is a man of the blade; a knight and a lord. I have supported myself and my son as a waiting lady at an inn in Getonsberg. And yourself, Lady Maraud, might I inquire as to your husband's profession?"
There was a marked coldness in Clarisin's voice. She had confessed easily to her evident sin, having an illegitimate son. But she was guessing from the silence in the room after her original question that she was not the only one guilty of such a thing, and she was clearly challenging to see if she were the only one unashamed.
"It is my pleasure to meet you, Lady Maraud," Clarisin greeted softly, inclining her head in a show of respect. After all, it was likely that Maraud, as the wife (so Clarisin assumed) of a man who remained so silent and regal-like as Sir Roryn, was a lady of high stature. Maraud commented on the nature of Clarisin's son, and the woman shifted her gaze over to the happy little boy. "Thank you, Lady Maraud. And I gladly return the compliment to your daughter. She is truly a beautiful girl."
Maraud made her way over to sit with Sir Roryn, and Clarisin made no effort to acknowledge the suggested ownership of the man. She had not come to Rozeshire to be bothered with more than one noble man, and Sir Roryn hardly appealed to her. It did interest her, however, that Maraud shot a peculiar look to the younger Sir Mabuz. She pondered for a moment if the two fey were related somehow (which made sense, as Mabuz seemed to view Aurora as an uncle would a lovely niece, and both were of fey heritage) and if Maraud simply disliked seeing her kinsman being neighborly to a member of a lower class. Surely that was it.
And then Maraud asked her innocent question. A woman in Clarisin's position might have balked, or sweetly offered up a lie. At least some hesitation might have been expected. But Clarisin herself did not miss a beat, and lifted her delicate chin with a certain lack of shame and an abundance of pride. "I have no husband, Lady Maraud. Liam's father is a man of the blade; a knight and a lord. I have supported myself and my son as a waiting lady at an inn in Getonsberg. And yourself, Lady Maraud, might I inquire as to your husband's profession?"
There was a marked coldness in Clarisin's voice. She had confessed easily to her evident sin, having an illegitimate son. But she was guessing from the silence in the room after her original question that she was not the only one guilty of such a thing, and she was clearly challenging to see if she were the only one unashamed.
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by Protoman X on Sat Nov 08, 2008 12:10 am
Marrik listened in silence. How could Elaine let such a thing bother her? He still didn't quite grasp an understanding of humans and their ways, but he'd been working on it.
He decided to test his understanding by giving some advice, "I suggest you not worry over it, Elaine." he said, becoming his more pleasant self, "The future is not set in stone. Nobody can truly predict the future. They may claim to see it, but rest assured they are merely making a guess, probably in favor of those they like and in woe of those they dislike." he said, now turning to face her.
"Whatever lies in the future, is entirely your choice to make, not some old fool who claims to see the future. After all, why live at all if you know what is to come?" he spoke this in earnest, believing it himself. Even his mother, powerful as she was, could not see clearly into the future. Marrik even believed that the so-called Prophet Merlin was not as clairvoyant as he claimed to be.
Also, though, he was secretly jealous. Not at all of Elaine, but of Lancelot. Why should that idealistic fool be so lucky to have such a lineage and be "destined" to give Elaine a son? Does God hate me so that he would bless my enemy and curse me? He thought to himself. 'Enemy', was probably an incorrect choice of words. He did not hate Lancelot nor wish him any ill will. But he was jealous, jealous of all the love from people he seemed so destined to recieve. Could Marrik not also be such a hero? There had to be a way...
"I know you are greatly curious about me, Elaine, and I do wish I had the courage to tell you about myself." he said, suddenly, "But... I do not have that kind of courage... if you knew half of the truth about me..." he said, turning away again, "...you'd probably run for your life whilst cursing me to eternally burn in hell." he said, obviously still haunted by the ghosts of his past.
"I..." he started, but froze. No. He couldn't. She was his only true friend, no, something more, and telling her the truth would surely drive her away. He could not do that.
He decided to test his understanding by giving some advice, "I suggest you not worry over it, Elaine." he said, becoming his more pleasant self, "The future is not set in stone. Nobody can truly predict the future. They may claim to see it, but rest assured they are merely making a guess, probably in favor of those they like and in woe of those they dislike." he said, now turning to face her.
"Whatever lies in the future, is entirely your choice to make, not some old fool who claims to see the future. After all, why live at all if you know what is to come?" he spoke this in earnest, believing it himself. Even his mother, powerful as she was, could not see clearly into the future. Marrik even believed that the so-called Prophet Merlin was not as clairvoyant as he claimed to be.
Also, though, he was secretly jealous. Not at all of Elaine, but of Lancelot. Why should that idealistic fool be so lucky to have such a lineage and be "destined" to give Elaine a son? Does God hate me so that he would bless my enemy and curse me? He thought to himself. 'Enemy', was probably an incorrect choice of words. He did not hate Lancelot nor wish him any ill will. But he was jealous, jealous of all the love from people he seemed so destined to recieve. Could Marrik not also be such a hero? There had to be a way...
"I know you are greatly curious about me, Elaine, and I do wish I had the courage to tell you about myself." he said, suddenly, "But... I do not have that kind of courage... if you knew half of the truth about me..." he said, turning away again, "...you'd probably run for your life whilst cursing me to eternally burn in hell." he said, obviously still haunted by the ghosts of his past.
"I..." he started, but froze. No. He couldn't. She was his only true friend, no, something more, and telling her the truth would surely drive her away. He could not do that.
"You either die a hero, or live long enough to watch yourself become the villain."
"The only morality in the world is chance. Pure, unbiased, chance."
-Harvey Dent
"This city deserves a better class of criminal... and I'm gonna give it to 'em!"
"You remind me of my father... I hated my father! HATED HIM!"
"If you're good at something... don't do it for free."
-The Joker
"The only morality in the world is chance. Pure, unbiased, chance."
-Harvey Dent
"This city deserves a better class of criminal... and I'm gonna give it to 'em!"
"You remind me of my father... I hated my father! HATED HIM!"
"If you're good at something... don't do it for free."
-The Joker
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Protoman X - Estimated Grade Level: 6
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Grade Level of this post: 7
Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by Protoman X on Sat Nov 08, 2008 12:18 am
Roryn remained silent. Affairs between women were the last thing he desired to be in the middle of, especially if one of said women happened to be Maraud. She would obviously expect him to agree with her no matter what, and he didn't like being put in such positions.
What he did wonder, though, was why Clarisin treated him like a noble. Could she not see the common clothes he wore? Unlike Maraud, Roryn cared nothing for status, and had only remained silent so as not to be dragged into the apparant confrontation between Clarisin and Maraud.
Why were they not getting along, anyway? Had they met? Well, enough was enough. He decided to speak up when asked what his occupation was, "A little this and that." was his reply to her question, not really answering it at all, "I assume the teo of you have met? I can't imagine perfect strangers treating each other like bitter rivals as the two of you are doing now." he said, trying to sound like he was on nobody's side of the confrontation, but merely a peacekeeper of sorts.
What he did wonder, though, was why Clarisin treated him like a noble. Could she not see the common clothes he wore? Unlike Maraud, Roryn cared nothing for status, and had only remained silent so as not to be dragged into the apparant confrontation between Clarisin and Maraud.
Why were they not getting along, anyway? Had they met? Well, enough was enough. He decided to speak up when asked what his occupation was, "A little this and that." was his reply to her question, not really answering it at all, "I assume the teo of you have met? I can't imagine perfect strangers treating each other like bitter rivals as the two of you are doing now." he said, trying to sound like he was on nobody's side of the confrontation, but merely a peacekeeper of sorts.
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Protoman X - Estimated Grade Level: 6
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Grade Level of this post: 7
Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by daughterofdon on Sat Nov 08, 2008 10:50 am
Lancelot felt like he would choke on his own heart—it seemed to have leapt so furiously into his throat. Alanna did not say what he thought she would. He had expected that she would present him with a faultless, all-encompassing maxim as to why they must remain pure that night. But, she did not. She brought herself close to him and touched his knees as she spoke of her own steadfast longing for him, and then laid it in his hands to decide upon the matter. But he felt just as conflicted and anxious as she did!
That was, until he was struck by an epiphany. He was staring down at Alanna’s questioning face, her words permeating his heart and mind. He realized—she would never be as brilliantly pure as she was at that moment, looking up at him, giving him her heart, pledging herself to him completely. All of the sudden, he saw her as no longer his chaste love, his betrothed, a lady still forbidden to him. She was—
“I don’t believe it!” he exulted, his voice rising into the trees with joyous awe. He slid off the stump and faced Alanna, grasping her hands. His eyes were bright with rising tears, and he had an unabashed smile on his face.
“Alanna, my love—we are already married! You are my bride—I am your groom, your husband! The Lord doesn’t need a grand feast and all the pomp of a wedding to prove it. But, I have just realized, the ceremony of our marriage has already occurred—it was when we were in Greensbury, and I proposed to you in the dining hall—publicly! I received the approval of your family, and I was given your dowry. My cousins were there—they are the only blood relations I know of!”
The revelation struck him like a lance—only, it was not injury the lance brought, but a wondrous enlightenment, a sudden freeing of his soul, of all his anxieties and worries about impropriety.
“All this week, we have been thinking that the ceremony was just a betrothal. Really, we have been deceiving ourselves for the years we have known each other. We were first engaged, Alanna, when we gave each other these.” He clasped her hand that held his ring, and the pendant around his neck. “And as you just said, Alanna, from what we have seen in the villages without priests—it takes no more than a couple’s declaration of love and devotion to make a marriage—an exchange of precious tokens, the presence of the families—the expressed consent of both parties. My blessed God, Alanna—how come we have not realized this before? How come we have continued to torture ourselves by denying a union that is already sanctified in the eyes of the Lord?”
His smile shrank into a look of shame as he pondered his own question. “It was I who could not believe it. I was too concerned about purse and property and title—all the matters that the Lord cares not of. Forgive me, Alanna—my dear wife!”
He placed his hands on the sides of her face and kissed her temple apologetically. Then he pulled back and looked lovingly at her face again—her face, so familiar and wonderful. “At least I have finally seen the truth. Truly, Alanna… I wish we might have had a feast and a wedding with all of our friends. But everyone of import to us already knows of our intent—that is what matters. Bors and Lionel know, Kantus knows, your sister and Sir Nathan know, Mennah knows, and I’m sure she has told Sir Armand and our other friends. Even all the Lake folk and Vivienne know. She tried to stop us, but she has failed, and she can never keep us apart, because I am completely free of her now... and we are together.”
He kept one hand to her face, and gently slid his fingers along her jaw, stopping at her chin.
“And if we are already wedded, then… these weeks that we will be alone together—this is our... honeymoon. It is the only thing keeping us from truly acting as a wedded man and woman—the fact that we have yet to consummate our union. This is our first night of cohabitation, Alanna—of truly living together… of sharing a bed.” He was not smiling as he spoke, for he was solemn about the sanctity of their union. But his eyes showed a complete tenderness, a sincere longing akin to what Alanna had earlier confessed to. And he felt that his heart could not possibly beat any more furiously than it did at that moment.
He pulled his eyes away from her and rose. “Here, Alanna, wait here,” he murmured as he gently lifted her to sit on the stump. “And… close your eyes.” He smiled again—a smile shaky with nervousness and anticipation.
His nerves made him heady, and his limbs trembled as he walked away from Alanna, and went about unloading their horses’ saddles of their blankets. Clarric turned his head to his master and gave him a look and a snort. “You mind your own business, Clarric,” Lancelot muttered tensely to his steed, being kind enough to leave the kelpie one blanket to keep him warm through the night.
Lancelot’s mind was racing and his heart was palpitating as he stacked all the blankets they had on hand—it was the closest he could achieve to a love bed. He tossed more wood onto the fire. Then he stood antsily as he took off his gauntlets and undid his belt and scabbard with fumbling fingers, setting them a few feet aside.
Lord, he was nervous! What if he proved to be a horrid lover, because he didn’t know what he was doing? What if the intimacy would be too much for them, and drove them apart? What if he was delusional, and they weren’t really married?
But his fears subsided, and in place came excitement and a desire that he did not have to quell. He returned to Alanna’s side and touched her shoulder. Her warmth calmed his nerves, and he ceased his meek trembling. He looked again into her eyes, to see if this was what she wanted. Then he lowered his hand to her back and placed the other under her legs, and lifted her from the stump. Then he carried her to the makeshift love bed, just as a groom would carry his new bride.
“Alanna, I have dreamed of this every night for two years,” he told her with a heavy breath, lowering himself next to her on the saddle blankets. “Just as you have assured me that you are a pure woman, I can assure you that I am pure as your husband, as well--perhaps not pure in mind, but pure in body. How I worried… that one of us would perish in one of our antics, and we would never be able to know each other like this.” He kicked off his boots, and then wrapped his arms around Alanna and kissed her deeply.
That was, until he was struck by an epiphany. He was staring down at Alanna’s questioning face, her words permeating his heart and mind. He realized—she would never be as brilliantly pure as she was at that moment, looking up at him, giving him her heart, pledging herself to him completely. All of the sudden, he saw her as no longer his chaste love, his betrothed, a lady still forbidden to him. She was—
“I don’t believe it!” he exulted, his voice rising into the trees with joyous awe. He slid off the stump and faced Alanna, grasping her hands. His eyes were bright with rising tears, and he had an unabashed smile on his face.
“Alanna, my love—we are already married! You are my bride—I am your groom, your husband! The Lord doesn’t need a grand feast and all the pomp of a wedding to prove it. But, I have just realized, the ceremony of our marriage has already occurred—it was when we were in Greensbury, and I proposed to you in the dining hall—publicly! I received the approval of your family, and I was given your dowry. My cousins were there—they are the only blood relations I know of!”
The revelation struck him like a lance—only, it was not injury the lance brought, but a wondrous enlightenment, a sudden freeing of his soul, of all his anxieties and worries about impropriety.
“All this week, we have been thinking that the ceremony was just a betrothal. Really, we have been deceiving ourselves for the years we have known each other. We were first engaged, Alanna, when we gave each other these.” He clasped her hand that held his ring, and the pendant around his neck. “And as you just said, Alanna, from what we have seen in the villages without priests—it takes no more than a couple’s declaration of love and devotion to make a marriage—an exchange of precious tokens, the presence of the families—the expressed consent of both parties. My blessed God, Alanna—how come we have not realized this before? How come we have continued to torture ourselves by denying a union that is already sanctified in the eyes of the Lord?”
His smile shrank into a look of shame as he pondered his own question. “It was I who could not believe it. I was too concerned about purse and property and title—all the matters that the Lord cares not of. Forgive me, Alanna—my dear wife!”
He placed his hands on the sides of her face and kissed her temple apologetically. Then he pulled back and looked lovingly at her face again—her face, so familiar and wonderful. “At least I have finally seen the truth. Truly, Alanna… I wish we might have had a feast and a wedding with all of our friends. But everyone of import to us already knows of our intent—that is what matters. Bors and Lionel know, Kantus knows, your sister and Sir Nathan know, Mennah knows, and I’m sure she has told Sir Armand and our other friends. Even all the Lake folk and Vivienne know. She tried to stop us, but she has failed, and she can never keep us apart, because I am completely free of her now... and we are together.”
He kept one hand to her face, and gently slid his fingers along her jaw, stopping at her chin.
“And if we are already wedded, then… these weeks that we will be alone together—this is our... honeymoon. It is the only thing keeping us from truly acting as a wedded man and woman—the fact that we have yet to consummate our union. This is our first night of cohabitation, Alanna—of truly living together… of sharing a bed.” He was not smiling as he spoke, for he was solemn about the sanctity of their union. But his eyes showed a complete tenderness, a sincere longing akin to what Alanna had earlier confessed to. And he felt that his heart could not possibly beat any more furiously than it did at that moment.
He pulled his eyes away from her and rose. “Here, Alanna, wait here,” he murmured as he gently lifted her to sit on the stump. “And… close your eyes.” He smiled again—a smile shaky with nervousness and anticipation.
His nerves made him heady, and his limbs trembled as he walked away from Alanna, and went about unloading their horses’ saddles of their blankets. Clarric turned his head to his master and gave him a look and a snort. “You mind your own business, Clarric,” Lancelot muttered tensely to his steed, being kind enough to leave the kelpie one blanket to keep him warm through the night.
Lancelot’s mind was racing and his heart was palpitating as he stacked all the blankets they had on hand—it was the closest he could achieve to a love bed. He tossed more wood onto the fire. Then he stood antsily as he took off his gauntlets and undid his belt and scabbard with fumbling fingers, setting them a few feet aside.
Lord, he was nervous! What if he proved to be a horrid lover, because he didn’t know what he was doing? What if the intimacy would be too much for them, and drove them apart? What if he was delusional, and they weren’t really married?
But his fears subsided, and in place came excitement and a desire that he did not have to quell. He returned to Alanna’s side and touched her shoulder. Her warmth calmed his nerves, and he ceased his meek trembling. He looked again into her eyes, to see if this was what she wanted. Then he lowered his hand to her back and placed the other under her legs, and lifted her from the stump. Then he carried her to the makeshift love bed, just as a groom would carry his new bride.
“Alanna, I have dreamed of this every night for two years,” he told her with a heavy breath, lowering himself next to her on the saddle blankets. “Just as you have assured me that you are a pure woman, I can assure you that I am pure as your husband, as well--perhaps not pure in mind, but pure in body. How I worried… that one of us would perish in one of our antics, and we would never be able to know each other like this.” He kicked off his boots, and then wrapped his arms around Alanna and kissed her deeply.
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daughterofdon - Estimated Grade Level: 6
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by Kohananinja on Sat Nov 08, 2008 8:13 pm
After a few more moments of silence, Alec finally allowed his face expression. He smiled, small but definitely a smile. He then announced loudly in Gaelic: “She has highland blood lads, there be no mistaking it! She is indeed our Kin! Tell me lass, is your sire no Ronald of the Highlands?” Alec asked in Gaelic.
Mennah paused for a moment, but kept eye contact and replied. “Aye he is, but we were under the impression my father’s kin were killed in a clan war years ago.” Mennah said back to him in Gaelic. That was all the confirmation the men needed and gave whoops of joy. Alec quickly dismounted his horse and strode to Mennah’s side, pulling her into a brotherly hug.
“Dear cousin, I apologize for not finding you sooner. As Laid of the clan, it is my duty to take care of you and find you a worthy husband.” Alec said in Gaelic to Mennah, while Helena translated to the others. Mennah warmed up a bit to her new cousins, for it appeared they meant no harm, but pulled away slightly to respond.
“Well I’ve managed quite nicely there on my own.” She said gesturing to Armand with a loving smile. “This is Armand, my fiancé. We’re getting married soon, and if you truly are my kin, you’re welcome to stay for the wedding. For now why don’t we go inside where we might be more comfortable. I imagine you’re all quite exhausted from your long trip. ”
Alec nodded, releasing Mennah, but his face became calculating again, and now directed at Armand. That couldn’t be good. He was granted a brief reprieve however, as Alec moved to help his wife and baby son from their horse.
They soon were all heading back into the castle, I slightly uncomfortable silence taking hold, but quickly disturbed by the happy conversing of Helena and Ralcia. After arriving at the hall, Mennah was slightly surprised to see more companions there than she had left. A woman of distinct human beauty sat regally in one of her chairs as if she were the high queen herself. Ralcia, having seen her through her crystal instantly bristled, and Helena picking up on her friends hostility, stared with cold eyes as well. Mennah, actually feeling the tension from all whom were aware of the woman’s identity, got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and only worsened when she saw the dark haired baby, whom was obviously hers. The child couldn’t possibly be more than two years.
Mennah swallowed back a lump that had formed in her throat and managed not to croak out her greeting. “I do not believe we have met Lady. Might I inquire after your person, and your business in my hall?”
Mennah paused for a moment, but kept eye contact and replied. “Aye he is, but we were under the impression my father’s kin were killed in a clan war years ago.” Mennah said back to him in Gaelic. That was all the confirmation the men needed and gave whoops of joy. Alec quickly dismounted his horse and strode to Mennah’s side, pulling her into a brotherly hug.
“Dear cousin, I apologize for not finding you sooner. As Laid of the clan, it is my duty to take care of you and find you a worthy husband.” Alec said in Gaelic to Mennah, while Helena translated to the others. Mennah warmed up a bit to her new cousins, for it appeared they meant no harm, but pulled away slightly to respond.
“Well I’ve managed quite nicely there on my own.” She said gesturing to Armand with a loving smile. “This is Armand, my fiancé. We’re getting married soon, and if you truly are my kin, you’re welcome to stay for the wedding. For now why don’t we go inside where we might be more comfortable. I imagine you’re all quite exhausted from your long trip. ”
Alec nodded, releasing Mennah, but his face became calculating again, and now directed at Armand. That couldn’t be good. He was granted a brief reprieve however, as Alec moved to help his wife and baby son from their horse.
They soon were all heading back into the castle, I slightly uncomfortable silence taking hold, but quickly disturbed by the happy conversing of Helena and Ralcia. After arriving at the hall, Mennah was slightly surprised to see more companions there than she had left. A woman of distinct human beauty sat regally in one of her chairs as if she were the high queen herself. Ralcia, having seen her through her crystal instantly bristled, and Helena picking up on her friends hostility, stared with cold eyes as well. Mennah, actually feeling the tension from all whom were aware of the woman’s identity, got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and only worsened when she saw the dark haired baby, whom was obviously hers. The child couldn’t possibly be more than two years.
Mennah swallowed back a lump that had formed in her throat and managed not to croak out her greeting. “I do not believe we have met Lady. Might I inquire after your person, and your business in my hall?”
Life means rolling with the punches, and knowing when to throw a few of your own
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Kohananinja - Estimated Grade Level: 6
Grade Level of this post: 6
Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by Jadeling Hawkins on Sat Nov 08, 2008 10:01 pm
Alanna was greatly concerned when Lancelot suddenly gasped and dropped to his knees beside her. She assumed immediately that she had been initially correct, and that she had failed a test of his. What couldn't he believe? That she had feigned indifference to his charms all this time? That she had deceived him into thinking her an entirely un-temptable woman? But there was no malice in his eyes, just delight and surprise. And as he spoke, the look spread quickly into her own.
They were already married?
As Lancelot explained further their situation, Alanna's eyes slowly grew more round and more bright. They had become betrothed in private, years before when they had sworn to remain faithful to one another. They had remained chaste, neither had wandered to different lovers. And then, back at Greensbury...he had asked for her hand, and she had granted it! There had been witnesses...he had received a gift from her belated father, her dowry. And it seemed now that they had even spent a week after their unassuming wedding in extended chastity! It all made such sense, that she felt a fool for having not realized it before. She felt as if a damp cloth had just been removed from her eyes, to reveal unbelievably beautiful scenery that she had before only heard and felt.
"Oh...oh Lancelot!" Alanna cried, her voice drenched with joy. She clung to his hands as tears once again filled and slid forth from her eyes. But there was no trace of grief on her face now, and indeed she looked at that moment as if she had never felt so much as a trace of unhappiness in her entire life. She could think of no further words, for Lancelot's many proclamations filled her with such glee so as to rob her of the ability to speak.
My husband...my husband! Alanna thought as she gazed with great ardour into his wonderful eyes. He apologized for having wished to wait for coin and titles, and she hardly heard him. They were wedded, what did it matter why they had waited before!
And then, of course, he came back to what had started this wonderful conversation just moments before. Alanna's face flushed, but her expression became gentle and serious as she nodded in solemn agreement, resting her hand against his on her cheek. Her entire being was swept over with feelings of warmth, excitement, nerves, and somehow mixed in between all a deep peace. It was the sort of feeling she often got after successfully completing a particularly difficult and dangerous quest.
"Lancelot...my beloved husband...This is to be our honeymoon...My darling spouse..." She sighed softly, committing as much to memory as she possibly could of this exact moment, to be dwelled upon later in life when times would be dark and cheerless. She knew she would only have to think of this, this time when his eyes were so loving and tender and his touch so warm and comforting. The night she first saw him as her husband. "I have longed to hear such sweet and divine words from your beloved lips!"
Then, after all the worry and forethought...she was at a loss for what to do. So much restraint, and now she felt too timid to even kiss her husband on the first night of their honeymoon. Should she kiss his lips? Hold his hands a while longer? Luckily, Lancelot seemed to have an idea of what to do next. He set her upon the stump, and instructed her to shut her eyes. Beaming, she did so, resting her balled up fists on her knees and shivering in anticipation. She could still see the light in his eyes, smell the musk of his skin, and feel the inviting warmth of his hand against her cheek as she heard him rustling around and murmuring to his horse. She wondered what he was doing, of course, but as he had asked her to close her eyes she decided not to ask. Her insides were all a-tingle as she awaited his cue, and she jumped quietly as he touched her shoulder.
Without a word, Alanna looked around the camp to see what had changed. And her eyes took on their softest light yet when she saw what he had done...preparing a bed for them to lay in together for the first time. "Lancelot..." She murmured happily, but that was all she could think to say. He met her eyes once more, searching, and then lifted her over to the first bed she would lay in as his wife. His wife!
As Lancelot carried his bride across an imaginary threshold, Alanna looped her arms around his neck and gazed with unyielding adoration up at him. It seemed as if the insects and animals of the woods had left the area and grown completely silent as a special favor to the new couple, and the stars shone brighter than they ever had for their sake. There was a gentle breeze to blow through the campsite and spread the warmth of the fire evenly. But all Alanna had eyes for, or could be bothered to notice, was the man who whispered of his desire and devotion to her, and kissed her so sweetly that there could not possibly be a single worrisome thing in the world.
"Lancelot...I love you."
They were already married?
As Lancelot explained further their situation, Alanna's eyes slowly grew more round and more bright. They had become betrothed in private, years before when they had sworn to remain faithful to one another. They had remained chaste, neither had wandered to different lovers. And then, back at Greensbury...he had asked for her hand, and she had granted it! There had been witnesses...he had received a gift from her belated father, her dowry. And it seemed now that they had even spent a week after their unassuming wedding in extended chastity! It all made such sense, that she felt a fool for having not realized it before. She felt as if a damp cloth had just been removed from her eyes, to reveal unbelievably beautiful scenery that she had before only heard and felt.
"Oh...oh Lancelot!" Alanna cried, her voice drenched with joy. She clung to his hands as tears once again filled and slid forth from her eyes. But there was no trace of grief on her face now, and indeed she looked at that moment as if she had never felt so much as a trace of unhappiness in her entire life. She could think of no further words, for Lancelot's many proclamations filled her with such glee so as to rob her of the ability to speak.
My husband...my husband! Alanna thought as she gazed with great ardour into his wonderful eyes. He apologized for having wished to wait for coin and titles, and she hardly heard him. They were wedded, what did it matter why they had waited before!
And then, of course, he came back to what had started this wonderful conversation just moments before. Alanna's face flushed, but her expression became gentle and serious as she nodded in solemn agreement, resting her hand against his on her cheek. Her entire being was swept over with feelings of warmth, excitement, nerves, and somehow mixed in between all a deep peace. It was the sort of feeling she often got after successfully completing a particularly difficult and dangerous quest.
"Lancelot...my beloved husband...This is to be our honeymoon...My darling spouse..." She sighed softly, committing as much to memory as she possibly could of this exact moment, to be dwelled upon later in life when times would be dark and cheerless. She knew she would only have to think of this, this time when his eyes were so loving and tender and his touch so warm and comforting. The night she first saw him as her husband. "I have longed to hear such sweet and divine words from your beloved lips!"
Then, after all the worry and forethought...she was at a loss for what to do. So much restraint, and now she felt too timid to even kiss her husband on the first night of their honeymoon. Should she kiss his lips? Hold his hands a while longer? Luckily, Lancelot seemed to have an idea of what to do next. He set her upon the stump, and instructed her to shut her eyes. Beaming, she did so, resting her balled up fists on her knees and shivering in anticipation. She could still see the light in his eyes, smell the musk of his skin, and feel the inviting warmth of his hand against her cheek as she heard him rustling around and murmuring to his horse. She wondered what he was doing, of course, but as he had asked her to close her eyes she decided not to ask. Her insides were all a-tingle as she awaited his cue, and she jumped quietly as he touched her shoulder.
Without a word, Alanna looked around the camp to see what had changed. And her eyes took on their softest light yet when she saw what he had done...preparing a bed for them to lay in together for the first time. "Lancelot..." She murmured happily, but that was all she could think to say. He met her eyes once more, searching, and then lifted her over to the first bed she would lay in as his wife. His wife!
As Lancelot carried his bride across an imaginary threshold, Alanna looped her arms around his neck and gazed with unyielding adoration up at him. It seemed as if the insects and animals of the woods had left the area and grown completely silent as a special favor to the new couple, and the stars shone brighter than they ever had for their sake. There was a gentle breeze to blow through the campsite and spread the warmth of the fire evenly. But all Alanna had eyes for, or could be bothered to notice, was the man who whispered of his desire and devotion to her, and kissed her so sweetly that there could not possibly be a single worrisome thing in the world.
"Lancelot...I love you."
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by Jadeling Hawkins on Sun Nov 09, 2008 1:35 am
As the large group (made tremendous by the size of some of those in it) made its way inside, Armand kept his arm firmly around Mennah's slim waist. He had felt an extreme dislike rising up in him at her cousin's words...find her a suitable husband? As if she were not completely capable of such a thing herself! But it seemed that Mennah had not been insulted, and no more fuss had been made over the matter...so Armand held his peace.
That is, until they neared the room where they had left Roryn and Mabuz...and he heard the same crisp, confident voice that he had been certain he had left in Getonsberg.
Panicked, Armand attempted to politely but firmly catch Mennah's hand to prevent her from entering the room. Lord, of all things, how he longed for her to stay out of that room! But it was too late. She had stepped inside, and quite suddenly there was a good deal of glaring and an even greater deal of tension. Armand backed slowly out of the room and past Mennah's cousins, feeling a sudden unignorable desire to flee for his life. Perhaps if he hid himself in one of the guest rooms of Rozeshire, or even hid in a tree, Clarisin would lose interest and take her son and return to the comfortable situation he had left her in. But like a clap of thunder, he heard Mennah's sweet demands...and if he had the ability, he would have screamed and turned to run when he heard Clarisin state her reply.
Clarisin, still bristling from the unspoken challenge that came from Maraud, had only grown more resolute and cool in the sight of so many other women come to stare her down. Her eyes flashed and her chin remained raised. She rose to her feet and kept her hands folded neatly before her, her black hair tumbling down behind her like a bit of night sky resting behind her head. Liam, as though sensing the change in his mother's demeanor, ceased his giggling and came to a halt just as he had reached his top speed racing around the table. Glancing briefly at his new play mate, Liam toddled over to grasp Clarisin's skirt and peeked timidly over at the many new faces standing in the doorway. Still clutching the apple he had been gifted with, Liam continued to shoot occasional smiles at Aurora while waiting for the storm that lingered at the adults' level to abate.
"Greetings, Lady Mennah. I do pray you forgive my intrusion. I am Clarisin, of Getonsberg. I have no business in your hall except with Lord Armand."
Armand dug his fingers into his hair and nearly doubled over in agony. What should he do? At the very least, before Clarisin spoke further on what business she had with him, he had to speak to Mennah privately. Now desperate, Armand lurched back through the small crowd in the door and caught Mennah in his arms. "Mennah, I must speak to you-"
"Lord Armand." Clarisin interrupted Armand's silent words with her own, cold as a winter's morning. Liam had begun to suck on his fist, and was staring over at Armand with large, curious and beautiful eyes. Armand paused and turned to scowl at Clarisin, wishing she were not there. Clarisin looked unmoved. "I did not come forward so that you would keep your son in a closet!"
"A closet? Demanding, vile woman, I left you with servants at your disposal and the greatest room in my house to rest in! Yet you dare follow me here in rags as though I've done you some wrong!" Armand roared in silent protest. Though his words would be audible only to Mennah, the angry rouge in his face and furious swipes of his hands conveyed his distaste for the situation rather well. But to all other than Mennah, Clarisin's stern words remained alone like a stunning fire in a dark room of explosives.
That is, until they neared the room where they had left Roryn and Mabuz...and he heard the same crisp, confident voice that he had been certain he had left in Getonsberg.
Panicked, Armand attempted to politely but firmly catch Mennah's hand to prevent her from entering the room. Lord, of all things, how he longed for her to stay out of that room! But it was too late. She had stepped inside, and quite suddenly there was a good deal of glaring and an even greater deal of tension. Armand backed slowly out of the room and past Mennah's cousins, feeling a sudden unignorable desire to flee for his life. Perhaps if he hid himself in one of the guest rooms of Rozeshire, or even hid in a tree, Clarisin would lose interest and take her son and return to the comfortable situation he had left her in. But like a clap of thunder, he heard Mennah's sweet demands...and if he had the ability, he would have screamed and turned to run when he heard Clarisin state her reply.
Clarisin, still bristling from the unspoken challenge that came from Maraud, had only grown more resolute and cool in the sight of so many other women come to stare her down. Her eyes flashed and her chin remained raised. She rose to her feet and kept her hands folded neatly before her, her black hair tumbling down behind her like a bit of night sky resting behind her head. Liam, as though sensing the change in his mother's demeanor, ceased his giggling and came to a halt just as he had reached his top speed racing around the table. Glancing briefly at his new play mate, Liam toddled over to grasp Clarisin's skirt and peeked timidly over at the many new faces standing in the doorway. Still clutching the apple he had been gifted with, Liam continued to shoot occasional smiles at Aurora while waiting for the storm that lingered at the adults' level to abate.
"Greetings, Lady Mennah. I do pray you forgive my intrusion. I am Clarisin, of Getonsberg. I have no business in your hall except with Lord Armand."
Armand dug his fingers into his hair and nearly doubled over in agony. What should he do? At the very least, before Clarisin spoke further on what business she had with him, he had to speak to Mennah privately. Now desperate, Armand lurched back through the small crowd in the door and caught Mennah in his arms. "Mennah, I must speak to you-"
"Lord Armand." Clarisin interrupted Armand's silent words with her own, cold as a winter's morning. Liam had begun to suck on his fist, and was staring over at Armand with large, curious and beautiful eyes. Armand paused and turned to scowl at Clarisin, wishing she were not there. Clarisin looked unmoved. "I did not come forward so that you would keep your son in a closet!"
"A closet? Demanding, vile woman, I left you with servants at your disposal and the greatest room in my house to rest in! Yet you dare follow me here in rags as though I've done you some wrong!" Armand roared in silent protest. Though his words would be audible only to Mennah, the angry rouge in his face and furious swipes of his hands conveyed his distaste for the situation rather well. But to all other than Mennah, Clarisin's stern words remained alone like a stunning fire in a dark room of explosives.
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by daughterofdon on Mon Nov 10, 2008 10:16 am
Mabuz averted his eyes uneasily when Clarisin admitted to bearing her child out of wedlock, with a man who was a lord and knight. It did not offend him because of its impropriety—he only felt stunned somewhat, and uncomfortable with the feeling that he was listening to words that he had no business hearing. He raised his eyes and looked expectantly at Maraud when Clarisin coldly reciprocated the same question about her husband's profession?
Maraud was not quick to answer, but it could be seen that she immediately tensed, and her once lithe frame turned stiff. She made an effort to keep her expression nonchalant, but she could not conceal the resentful spark in her eyes. How dare this lady use her own words against her! She had a healthful appetite for men, yes, but she did not consider herself to be a common slut, like this woman!
Roryn answered first—vague and curt. But then he made comment on the apparent bitterness between the two mothers. Maraud turned to him and her hand tightened on his shoulder. “Your concern is for naught, my dear. Lady Clarisin and I have only just met. We are perfectly civil to each other. See? We are letting our children play together…” At that moment, Aurora emitted her highest squeal yet—as she was running around the table and very near to catching up to Liam and tagging him. Maraud’s hand delicately brushed her throbbing temple as she blinked at the shrillness of her daughter.
But before more could be said, a large party of young adults entered the hall—Mennah and her cousins and Sir Armand. Mabuz gawked a moment at the size of the three Scottish men. Then he looked at the ladies, Ralcia and Helena. His brows furrowed when he realized that they were glaring at Clarisin. Even Mennah looked uncomfortable in the presence of the lady, although she was polite enough to address her. Mabuz felt his face hardening against the ladies’s scowls, in defense of Clarisin and her son.
His attention made another shift, this time to Armand, who was silently panicking, appearing to retreat from the hall, and wanting to take Mennah with him. His show of desperateness almost inspired Mabuz to feel sympathetic, but he still continued to scrutinize his knightly rival with critical eyes.
Maraud swiftly grabbed Aurora when she ran past her, putting a stop to her daughter’s play. Aurora, tightly confined in her mother’s arms, looked unhappily at the strangers. She turned her attention to Liam’s smiles, and reached out her hands and made soft whines. Maraud hushed her, and Aurora drooped sulkily, pulling at her mother’s sleeve impatiently.
Then came Clarisin’s rebuke that revealed her claim: Sir Armand had been her knightly lover, the father of young Liam. Mabuz flinched in his seat. It was not a very great surprise—if he had pondered on the coincidences that had preceded it, he may have guessed… but he was not glad to hear it. A sense of alarm came over him. He couldn’t quite tell what exactly he was alarmed by—the sight of Sir Armand, red-faced and hands flying, having a silent outburst? Or was it the excruciating pause that followed, in which felt that something had to happen? He feared what was to happen to Clarisin and her son. It was clear that the room was full of people who had decided to immediately hate her. Irrationally, he feared for her life. What if Mennah's burly cousins decided to put Clarisin to death, because she was a threat to their cousin's impending marriage? What if they stoned her, or cut off her head?
That was the reason he assumed the role of Clarisin’s most staunch ally—her champion, in a sense. He decided that he would support her no matter what, even if she had foolishly gone to bed with Sir Armand, and rashly admitted it in the presence of her enemies. He turned to her and took her hand in a gesture of reassurance.
“Lady Clarisin,” he spoke expressly to her, while all he others were still present. “Sir Armand can not speak, because of an injury I inflicted on him in a duel. But, I will do what I can to help you, lady. Perhaps you should retreat from this hall with Lady Mennah and Sir Armand alone. This does not seem to be the type of exchange appropriate for so many ears. I will watch over Liam, if you would trust me to.”
Maraud stood after hearing Mabuz’s words to Clarisin. She addressed the others: “Mabuz has a sound suggestion on this matter. A private conference between Lord Armand, Lady Mennah—and this woman. That is the best way that an agreement may be made, over what to do with the child.” She was hoping that such an arrangement would cause the least embarrassment for Mennah, the individual that she cared most for in the foul triangle that had presented itself.
Maraud was not quick to answer, but it could be seen that she immediately tensed, and her once lithe frame turned stiff. She made an effort to keep her expression nonchalant, but she could not conceal the resentful spark in her eyes. How dare this lady use her own words against her! She had a healthful appetite for men, yes, but she did not consider herself to be a common slut, like this woman!
Roryn answered first—vague and curt. But then he made comment on the apparent bitterness between the two mothers. Maraud turned to him and her hand tightened on his shoulder. “Your concern is for naught, my dear. Lady Clarisin and I have only just met. We are perfectly civil to each other. See? We are letting our children play together…” At that moment, Aurora emitted her highest squeal yet—as she was running around the table and very near to catching up to Liam and tagging him. Maraud’s hand delicately brushed her throbbing temple as she blinked at the shrillness of her daughter.
But before more could be said, a large party of young adults entered the hall—Mennah and her cousins and Sir Armand. Mabuz gawked a moment at the size of the three Scottish men. Then he looked at the ladies, Ralcia and Helena. His brows furrowed when he realized that they were glaring at Clarisin. Even Mennah looked uncomfortable in the presence of the lady, although she was polite enough to address her. Mabuz felt his face hardening against the ladies’s scowls, in defense of Clarisin and her son.
His attention made another shift, this time to Armand, who was silently panicking, appearing to retreat from the hall, and wanting to take Mennah with him. His show of desperateness almost inspired Mabuz to feel sympathetic, but he still continued to scrutinize his knightly rival with critical eyes.
Maraud swiftly grabbed Aurora when she ran past her, putting a stop to her daughter’s play. Aurora, tightly confined in her mother’s arms, looked unhappily at the strangers. She turned her attention to Liam’s smiles, and reached out her hands and made soft whines. Maraud hushed her, and Aurora drooped sulkily, pulling at her mother’s sleeve impatiently.
Then came Clarisin’s rebuke that revealed her claim: Sir Armand had been her knightly lover, the father of young Liam. Mabuz flinched in his seat. It was not a very great surprise—if he had pondered on the coincidences that had preceded it, he may have guessed… but he was not glad to hear it. A sense of alarm came over him. He couldn’t quite tell what exactly he was alarmed by—the sight of Sir Armand, red-faced and hands flying, having a silent outburst? Or was it the excruciating pause that followed, in which felt that something had to happen? He feared what was to happen to Clarisin and her son. It was clear that the room was full of people who had decided to immediately hate her. Irrationally, he feared for her life. What if Mennah's burly cousins decided to put Clarisin to death, because she was a threat to their cousin's impending marriage? What if they stoned her, or cut off her head?
That was the reason he assumed the role of Clarisin’s most staunch ally—her champion, in a sense. He decided that he would support her no matter what, even if she had foolishly gone to bed with Sir Armand, and rashly admitted it in the presence of her enemies. He turned to her and took her hand in a gesture of reassurance.
“Lady Clarisin,” he spoke expressly to her, while all he others were still present. “Sir Armand can not speak, because of an injury I inflicted on him in a duel. But, I will do what I can to help you, lady. Perhaps you should retreat from this hall with Lady Mennah and Sir Armand alone. This does not seem to be the type of exchange appropriate for so many ears. I will watch over Liam, if you would trust me to.”
Maraud stood after hearing Mabuz’s words to Clarisin. She addressed the others: “Mabuz has a sound suggestion on this matter. A private conference between Lord Armand, Lady Mennah—and this woman. That is the best way that an agreement may be made, over what to do with the child.” She was hoping that such an arrangement would cause the least embarrassment for Mennah, the individual that she cared most for in the foul triangle that had presented itself.
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daughterofdon - Estimated Grade Level: 6
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by Jadeling Hawkins on Mon Nov 10, 2008 10:53 am
At Mabuz's words, Armand turned and fixed him with his darkest look yet. "An injury you inflicted upon me during a duel in which you chose to cheat!" He shouted, knowing that none could hear him. It was perhaps a good thing that only Mennah was aware of what he was saying, for if his shouting had been public he surely would have lunged upon Mabuz and beaten him most furiously, if the room had known what he was so angry about.
And though they had seemed to have reached some understanding, for Mennah's sake, the sight of Mabuz reaching out and taking the hand of Armand's alleged lover only further stoked the knight's anger with the half-fey. Armand had no desire for Clarisin, not in comparison to his beloved Mennah. But it seemed that Mabuz could simply not help himself when it came to women Armand had absolutely any connection to. Of course he would stand for the woman who now stood to ruin his rival! Clarisin's gaze seemed to soften somewhat as she met Mabuz's, who seemed to offer the only gentle eyes in the room. And Armand felt something inexplicably akin to jealousy. Though he did not want Clarisin for himself, it somehow bothered him that a woman who might be holding his son would be making eyes with another.
But Clarisin's expression hardened once more at Maraud's words. 'That woman' and 'the child.' The disdain towards her was nearly tangible, just as she had been told to expect, but there was far too much dangling upon her steadfastness to back away in the face of adversity. And she had also been very careful, since coming forward, never to let Liam out of her sight. She was well aware of how much certain lords wished to defend their names, and how far their servants and supporters would go to ensure that they did. And what was one bastard child gone missing?
"My thanks, Sir Mordred," Clarisin replied with her head held high and her powerful gaze meeting Armand's blazing one. She scooped her son, who had grown silent with the absorbed feeling of tension in the room, into her arms and held him close. "But I feel no need to distract Lord Armand and his gentle lady from their guests. I simply wanted to ensure that Liam was close to his father. And honorable man would not run away!"
"I AM an honorable man! Else I might have sent you and your child to some other country!" Armand raged, his fists tighter than they had ever been. He took a step forward, and Clarisin took a step back. "And I don't even know that this boy-!" He stabbed his finger towards Liam, he blinked shyly at him, "Is even mine!"
Though he was silent save for some furious growls, Armand's point was somehow clear.
And though they had seemed to have reached some understanding, for Mennah's sake, the sight of Mabuz reaching out and taking the hand of Armand's alleged lover only further stoked the knight's anger with the half-fey. Armand had no desire for Clarisin, not in comparison to his beloved Mennah. But it seemed that Mabuz could simply not help himself when it came to women Armand had absolutely any connection to. Of course he would stand for the woman who now stood to ruin his rival! Clarisin's gaze seemed to soften somewhat as she met Mabuz's, who seemed to offer the only gentle eyes in the room. And Armand felt something inexplicably akin to jealousy. Though he did not want Clarisin for himself, it somehow bothered him that a woman who might be holding his son would be making eyes with another.
But Clarisin's expression hardened once more at Maraud's words. 'That woman' and 'the child.' The disdain towards her was nearly tangible, just as she had been told to expect, but there was far too much dangling upon her steadfastness to back away in the face of adversity. And she had also been very careful, since coming forward, never to let Liam out of her sight. She was well aware of how much certain lords wished to defend their names, and how far their servants and supporters would go to ensure that they did. And what was one bastard child gone missing?
"My thanks, Sir Mordred," Clarisin replied with her head held high and her powerful gaze meeting Armand's blazing one. She scooped her son, who had grown silent with the absorbed feeling of tension in the room, into her arms and held him close. "But I feel no need to distract Lord Armand and his gentle lady from their guests. I simply wanted to ensure that Liam was close to his father. And honorable man would not run away!"
"I AM an honorable man! Else I might have sent you and your child to some other country!" Armand raged, his fists tighter than they had ever been. He took a step forward, and Clarisin took a step back. "And I don't even know that this boy-!" He stabbed his finger towards Liam, he blinked shyly at him, "Is even mine!"
Though he was silent save for some furious growls, Armand's point was somehow clear.
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by Protoman X on Mon Nov 10, 2008 10:54 am
Typical. Mabuz was on his own again. Why did no one ever support that boy? Well, Roryn wasn't about to take a side, but he was ready to do something should Mabuz do something stupid... like challenging Armand again or the 3 burly scotsmen that were apparantly cousins of Mennah. He stood, shaking his head in disappointment, "Yes, give them privacy. After all, this their business to sort out..." he eyed the 3 scotsmen, and everyone, "... not ours." he said, then proceeded to leave, hoping he would be followed.
"Unbelievable." he said with a sigh after leaving the room, "It hasn't even been an hour and I'm already up to my ears in drama." he said, rubbing his fingers to his temples, as if he had a headache, "This is why I never returned to the life of a knight..." he said curtly. He was certain to hear more about this from Maraud. In fact, he'd be surprised if he didn't. But all in all, he would refuse to pick sides. This was not his business.
"Unbelievable." he said with a sigh after leaving the room, "It hasn't even been an hour and I'm already up to my ears in drama." he said, rubbing his fingers to his temples, as if he had a headache, "This is why I never returned to the life of a knight..." he said curtly. He was certain to hear more about this from Maraud. In fact, he'd be surprised if he didn't. But all in all, he would refuse to pick sides. This was not his business.
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by Kohananinja on Mon Nov 10, 2008 10:17 pm
Mennah wasn’t at all pleased with the attitude of this woman she now knew a Lady Clarisin. She was a guest for Christ’s sake, and was throwing out such insults to Armand’s honor was not acceptable. She could hear Armand’s defenses crystal clear, even if no one else could. She was a bit concerned about her new cousins, who had once again gone stony faced showing not the least bit of emotion, though inside Alec seethed with rage, not at Clarisin, but at Armand. Mennah put a comforting hand on Armand’s shoulder as Mabuz defended the woman who seemed so intent on ruining her happiness. (though if it was truly for her son Mennah couldn’t bring herself to hate her for it.) She had to admit, she was a little hurt Mabuz would take her side in this matter as she still viewed Mabuz as a friend, and he’d asked for forgiveness, but she tried hard not to show it. Acting like a hurt little girl would do nothing to change the situation, one could wallow on about one’s sorrows all day, but it would be for naught. So she decided to take charge instead. This was her castle and by God she’d not be crossed within her own gates! This woman obviously had another angle if security and luxury had been already provided, and she would be finding out what it was.
“Nonsense, this matter must be resolved, and there is no time like the present to start. As hostess I must insist we take ourselves to a private chamber where we might discuss this. Mabuz and Maraud can take care of your son whilst we chat.” Mennah said while lacing her hand with Armand’s. It sent two simply messages, the visual to state clearly to any woman “Mine”, and the verbal, while civil, also held an unmistakable authoritative tone that dared her to defy her. This woman was in Mennah's home, claiming to have born her fiancé’s child, and now had the gall to be rude to him after he’d offered to care for them. She was lucky Mennah hadn’t thrown Clarisin out on her arse banished from her lands! She probably would have if not for her baby. She didn’t have to the heart to do that to a child. She would however make no effort to hide her displeasure with Clarisin’s attitude when it was simply the three of them, especially since she’d be Armand’s translator.
“We should come along now.” Mennah said gesturing towards the door, waiting for her response.
“Nonsense, this matter must be resolved, and there is no time like the present to start. As hostess I must insist we take ourselves to a private chamber where we might discuss this. Mabuz and Maraud can take care of your son whilst we chat.” Mennah said while lacing her hand with Armand’s. It sent two simply messages, the visual to state clearly to any woman “Mine”, and the verbal, while civil, also held an unmistakable authoritative tone that dared her to defy her. This woman was in Mennah's home, claiming to have born her fiancé’s child, and now had the gall to be rude to him after he’d offered to care for them. She was lucky Mennah hadn’t thrown Clarisin out on her arse banished from her lands! She probably would have if not for her baby. She didn’t have to the heart to do that to a child. She would however make no effort to hide her displeasure with Clarisin’s attitude when it was simply the three of them, especially since she’d be Armand’s translator.
“We should come along now.” Mennah said gesturing towards the door, waiting for her response.
Last edited by Kohananinja on Wed Nov 12, 2008 8:14 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by daughterofdon on Tue Nov 11, 2008 8:35 pm
“Mmmm…” Lancelot made a low sound of contentment as he stirred. It was a fine morning in late spring—the sky was clear of fog, and he wasn’t nearly as dewy as he usually was when he woke. He had been afforded the comfort of something resembling a bed. And his impatient steed had had the sense not to wake him prematurely.
Not to mention, he lay beside his wife.
His wife!
It sounded much too bland and conventional to refer to the beautiful and armed Alanna, who was as unique a lady that ever existed, but that was what she was—his wife. And she was lying right beside him—touching, still somewhat embracing—close enough that he could feel her peaceful breath on his chest and her hair on his arm. He wrapped his arms fully around her back and pulled her even closer.
Close… they were so close now; even closer than they were before. He was reflecting on the eventful night as he gently worked his fingers through some of the love knots in her long tresses, while on the tail end of the bed, he stroked her feet with his toes. He could have lovingly caressed her all morning, all afternoon, and all night, but Clarric saw his cue and ambled over to his master when he detected that he was awake. The kelpie dipped his head and licked Lancelot’s brow to catch his attention. He was eager to continue their journeying—and it was unusual for Lancelot to sleep in this late.
“Ugh, Clarric!” Lancelot grumbled, pushing away the beast’s wide nose. But to appease his steed (for he did realize that it was late in the morning), he reluctantly withdrew himself from Alanna. As he lifted himself from the blanket that half-covered him, he paused and gazed fondly upon Alanna’s unclothed form. He had not seen her so clearly last night, when the flickering light from the fire cast everything orange and eclipsed her curves. But now she was exposed in full in the morning light, and he could admire the lighter color of her skin that was not often exposed to the sun. His own body was not so tan as his face and hands, but still retained a fine olive complexion that he inherited from his darker ancestors.
“So beautiful,” he admired her aloud. To know that she had lived most of her life passing as a boy—it seemed almost unthinkable now that he saw her like this! And it appeared that her former practice of binding her chest had not stunted the growth of her breasts—or if it had, they had sprung back with a resilience that he was quite appreciative of.
After a few moments of heartfelt doting, Lancelot lifted his eyes and saw his horse still close by, his shining black eyes directed at Alanna as well. Knowing what kelpies were like without their bridles, Lancelot was quick to yank the blanket back to cover Alanna. Clarric turned around, as if insulted, and flicked his tail over his well-muscled rump.
Lancelot shook his head at his horse as he stood and idly pulled on his braies and chauses. He became rather lost in his happy thoughts as he was tying the fastenings of the two garments. With only half of the drawstrings tied, he sat at the end of the pile of blankets and smiled to himself. With dark hair mussed, he rested one hand on his knee, supporting his chin, as the other absent-mindedly brushed over the light sprouting of hairs on his chest. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes in pleasure. He was, of course, thinking of Alanna.
But it soon passed that thinking was not enough. He turned around and looked at her. “Darling… how are you this fine morning? As well as I am, I hope!” He cast her an irresistible smile that thus far had never failed to earn him a kiss.
Not to mention, he lay beside his wife.
His wife!
It sounded much too bland and conventional to refer to the beautiful and armed Alanna, who was as unique a lady that ever existed, but that was what she was—his wife. And she was lying right beside him—touching, still somewhat embracing—close enough that he could feel her peaceful breath on his chest and her hair on his arm. He wrapped his arms fully around her back and pulled her even closer.
Close… they were so close now; even closer than they were before. He was reflecting on the eventful night as he gently worked his fingers through some of the love knots in her long tresses, while on the tail end of the bed, he stroked her feet with his toes. He could have lovingly caressed her all morning, all afternoon, and all night, but Clarric saw his cue and ambled over to his master when he detected that he was awake. The kelpie dipped his head and licked Lancelot’s brow to catch his attention. He was eager to continue their journeying—and it was unusual for Lancelot to sleep in this late.
“Ugh, Clarric!” Lancelot grumbled, pushing away the beast’s wide nose. But to appease his steed (for he did realize that it was late in the morning), he reluctantly withdrew himself from Alanna. As he lifted himself from the blanket that half-covered him, he paused and gazed fondly upon Alanna’s unclothed form. He had not seen her so clearly last night, when the flickering light from the fire cast everything orange and eclipsed her curves. But now she was exposed in full in the morning light, and he could admire the lighter color of her skin that was not often exposed to the sun. His own body was not so tan as his face and hands, but still retained a fine olive complexion that he inherited from his darker ancestors.
“So beautiful,” he admired her aloud. To know that she had lived most of her life passing as a boy—it seemed almost unthinkable now that he saw her like this! And it appeared that her former practice of binding her chest had not stunted the growth of her breasts—or if it had, they had sprung back with a resilience that he was quite appreciative of.
After a few moments of heartfelt doting, Lancelot lifted his eyes and saw his horse still close by, his shining black eyes directed at Alanna as well. Knowing what kelpies were like without their bridles, Lancelot was quick to yank the blanket back to cover Alanna. Clarric turned around, as if insulted, and flicked his tail over his well-muscled rump.
Lancelot shook his head at his horse as he stood and idly pulled on his braies and chauses. He became rather lost in his happy thoughts as he was tying the fastenings of the two garments. With only half of the drawstrings tied, he sat at the end of the pile of blankets and smiled to himself. With dark hair mussed, he rested one hand on his knee, supporting his chin, as the other absent-mindedly brushed over the light sprouting of hairs on his chest. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes in pleasure. He was, of course, thinking of Alanna.
But it soon passed that thinking was not enough. He turned around and looked at her. “Darling… how are you this fine morning? As well as I am, I hope!” He cast her an irresistible smile that thus far had never failed to earn him a kiss.
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by daughterofdon on Tue Nov 11, 2008 8:44 pm
Elaine had been expecting Marrik to sympathize with her, to understand why she was troubled. He might have said, “That is awful, Elaine. You should not be subjected to having a baby with a stranger.” Instead, he completely discounted the prophesy that had shaped her adolescent life. In fact, he rejected divination all together. She faced him in speechless surprise. She had never heard such an opinion expressed before. But it was something she immediately willed herself to cling to.
“Oh! I hope you’re right, Marrik,” she finally broke out of her speechlessness. “It’s just… all of my family seemed so sure that the future is set, and I am destined… I’m sure they would be furious with me if I refused to bear the holiest child of all Britain. I only hope that I never meet Sir Lancelot. Otherwise, I fear what lengths my father might go to…” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing with dread and embarrassment.
Then she returned her startled gaze to him when he addressed her interest in knowing his past. He still would not tell her… but apparently if was out of shame, out of fear that she would run from him if she knew. He must have done something horrendous—but whatever could it be? She averted her eyes uneasily when he spoke of eternal damnation. They were strong words he used, and she didn’t take them lightly.
“Well… I must sleep now, Marrik. I am very tired.” She shrank away from him and curled up on the ground again, a few feet farther from him than she had been before.
But she did not sleep. The thoughts swam in her head, growing more and more fearful. She could not stop hearing Marrik’s incendiary words, and seeing the haunted look in his dark eyes. What had he done? What could he have possibly done that would make her flee for her life and curse him to hell?
A whole mess of horrid things came to mind, as she pictured her friend Marrik committing deeds of the most wicked treachery. Her thoughts became horribly gruesome—how dearly she wished he had not told her what he had, leaving her to imagine his own sins for him!
As soon as the sun rose, she was up, straightening her dress. Her fears were still upon her as she glanced upon the sleeping Marrik. How could she trust him now? How could she be close to him if he still held this guarded secret from her? She had told him one of her most guarded secrets, and he had dismissed it as nothing. Her resentment was growing steadily.
And what if his dark secret was that he had once done harm to a girl like herself? She had not known him for long—not more than a fortnight. And she was completely alone with him; she had put her trust in him. Yet he told her that were was something about him that would make her curse him to hell.
‘I will find my way to Corbenic on my own,’ she decided at last. If she had parchment and ink, she would have written him a note of farewell. Instead, she stood a moment before him, her heart aching. She had to give him something to remember her by… so she took her ivory comb out of her purse and placed it next to him where he would see it when he woke.
She left the clearing on foot. She began to weep, and considered turning around several times. After all, Marrik had helped her, and had made no move to harm her. But it was too much for her to speculate on his sinful past. She was finally fed up with his secrets.
She really didn’t know where she was going. She only found her way through the path that looked the clearest and the most trodden. The forest had to end sometime, she assured herself, and she would be on the King’s Road again. Of course, it was unsafe for a maiden to travel alone, on foot—she would have been safer with Marrik, in all likeliness. But she trudged on stubbornly.
At one point in the late morning, when she was regretting her abrupt departure the most, Elaine heard voices not too far off. Her ears perked and she continued forward. She slowed at the edge of the clearing, cautiously peering through some tall shrubbery. The voices could be coming from bandits, after all. But her fears were quickly abated when she caught sight of two horses, bearing shields. Knights!
Azure, three passant guardian lions or; and Argent, three bendlets gules; Argent, a cross, Gules… she didn’t recognize the blazons. But they were certainly the blazons of goodly knights!
She brushed past the shrubbery and walked into the clearing, a hopeful look on her face. But she halted mid-step when she noticed that one of the knights was half-naked, and the other—was indeed not a knight, but a fair-haired woman, also under-clothed. It didn’t take her long to assume what they had been up to.
“Ah—excuse me!” she stammered uncomfortably, grasping one of her long braids in alarm.
“Oh! I hope you’re right, Marrik,” she finally broke out of her speechlessness. “It’s just… all of my family seemed so sure that the future is set, and I am destined… I’m sure they would be furious with me if I refused to bear the holiest child of all Britain. I only hope that I never meet Sir Lancelot. Otherwise, I fear what lengths my father might go to…” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing with dread and embarrassment.
Then she returned her startled gaze to him when he addressed her interest in knowing his past. He still would not tell her… but apparently if was out of shame, out of fear that she would run from him if she knew. He must have done something horrendous—but whatever could it be? She averted her eyes uneasily when he spoke of eternal damnation. They were strong words he used, and she didn’t take them lightly.
“Well… I must sleep now, Marrik. I am very tired.” She shrank away from him and curled up on the ground again, a few feet farther from him than she had been before.
But she did not sleep. The thoughts swam in her head, growing more and more fearful. She could not stop hearing Marrik’s incendiary words, and seeing the haunted look in his dark eyes. What had he done? What could he have possibly done that would make her flee for her life and curse him to hell?
A whole mess of horrid things came to mind, as she pictured her friend Marrik committing deeds of the most wicked treachery. Her thoughts became horribly gruesome—how dearly she wished he had not told her what he had, leaving her to imagine his own sins for him!
As soon as the sun rose, she was up, straightening her dress. Her fears were still upon her as she glanced upon the sleeping Marrik. How could she trust him now? How could she be close to him if he still held this guarded secret from her? She had told him one of her most guarded secrets, and he had dismissed it as nothing. Her resentment was growing steadily.
And what if his dark secret was that he had once done harm to a girl like herself? She had not known him for long—not more than a fortnight. And she was completely alone with him; she had put her trust in him. Yet he told her that were was something about him that would make her curse him to hell.
‘I will find my way to Corbenic on my own,’ she decided at last. If she had parchment and ink, she would have written him a note of farewell. Instead, she stood a moment before him, her heart aching. She had to give him something to remember her by… so she took her ivory comb out of her purse and placed it next to him where he would see it when he woke.
She left the clearing on foot. She began to weep, and considered turning around several times. After all, Marrik had helped her, and had made no move to harm her. But it was too much for her to speculate on his sinful past. She was finally fed up with his secrets.
She really didn’t know where she was going. She only found her way through the path that looked the clearest and the most trodden. The forest had to end sometime, she assured herself, and she would be on the King’s Road again. Of course, it was unsafe for a maiden to travel alone, on foot—she would have been safer with Marrik, in all likeliness. But she trudged on stubbornly.
At one point in the late morning, when she was regretting her abrupt departure the most, Elaine heard voices not too far off. Her ears perked and she continued forward. She slowed at the edge of the clearing, cautiously peering through some tall shrubbery. The voices could be coming from bandits, after all. But her fears were quickly abated when she caught sight of two horses, bearing shields. Knights!
Azure, three passant guardian lions or; and Argent, three bendlets gules; Argent, a cross, Gules… she didn’t recognize the blazons. But they were certainly the blazons of goodly knights!
She brushed past the shrubbery and walked into the clearing, a hopeful look on her face. But she halted mid-step when she noticed that one of the knights was half-naked, and the other—was indeed not a knight, but a fair-haired woman, also under-clothed. It didn’t take her long to assume what they had been up to.
“Ah—excuse me!” she stammered uncomfortably, grasping one of her long braids in alarm.
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daughterofdon - Estimated Grade Level: 6
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by daughterofdon on Tue Nov 11, 2008 10:10 pm
Mordred had been huffing with anger, whining like a child over how his aunt had teased and seduced him. And she continued the spiteful paradigm of their treatment of one another. When one was angry, the other was light. And when one was light, the other was cruel. There were pockets—insinuations—of love, sometimes, but really they seemed to enjoy tormenting each other more than anything else.
He was madly irritated as she twitched and grinned and played with his words. But her laugh aroused him, as did the manner in which she touched his chin.
“A spider, you say?” he considered, snatching her fingers from under his chin and clutching them in his own. “Let’s go to one of those dark places, Aunt Morgan. I feel short of air.”
Leaving her chamber seemed like the best option. If he stayed confined with her, he was afraid that he would either beat her or go to bed with her—and neither were outcomes that he wanted to live with at the moment. Yet he felt that his strange discourse with her would eventually lead to one or the other—or even both.
He pulled her by the hand, striding through the doorway and shutting it tightly behind them. He then pulled her through the empty halls, saying nothing—indeed, letting his deliberate footsteps speak for himself.
He took her to a stairway that led up to one of Camelot’s many towers. They spiraled up the steps. Mordred extended his grasp to Morgan’s waist to pull her along with him faster—fast enough to make him breathe heavily by the time they reached the top. He stepped through the doorway of the tower, out onto the battlements of one of the castle’s vast walls. He slowed his pace and released Morgan, stepping along and welcoming the fresh breezes that blew against him. Then he studied the courtyard below, and he saw Arthur, Vivienne, Merlin and Guinevere. There were others around them, but these four were impossible to miss.
“Do you think I have a chance with the Lady of the Lake, Morgan?” he whispered to her leeringly. “I never thought I would want a lady with green skin. Ah, and there’s that blond goddess again, standing by the Lady’s elbow. I wonder which would be the better lover? Probably the green lady.”
As he spoke, though, his gaze had been mostly on Guinevere. He really didn’t care much for Vivienne or Niniane. He only mentioned them for his own amusement, and to distract Morgan from recognizing his continued interest in Guinevere. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice that he couldn’t peel his eyes from the Queen.
He was madly irritated as she twitched and grinned and played with his words. But her laugh aroused him, as did the manner in which she touched his chin.
“A spider, you say?” he considered, snatching her fingers from under his chin and clutching them in his own. “Let’s go to one of those dark places, Aunt Morgan. I feel short of air.”
Leaving her chamber seemed like the best option. If he stayed confined with her, he was afraid that he would either beat her or go to bed with her—and neither were outcomes that he wanted to live with at the moment. Yet he felt that his strange discourse with her would eventually lead to one or the other—or even both.
He pulled her by the hand, striding through the doorway and shutting it tightly behind them. He then pulled her through the empty halls, saying nothing—indeed, letting his deliberate footsteps speak for himself.
He took her to a stairway that led up to one of Camelot’s many towers. They spiraled up the steps. Mordred extended his grasp to Morgan’s waist to pull her along with him faster—fast enough to make him breathe heavily by the time they reached the top. He stepped through the doorway of the tower, out onto the battlements of one of the castle’s vast walls. He slowed his pace and released Morgan, stepping along and welcoming the fresh breezes that blew against him. Then he studied the courtyard below, and he saw Arthur, Vivienne, Merlin and Guinevere. There were others around them, but these four were impossible to miss.
“Do you think I have a chance with the Lady of the Lake, Morgan?” he whispered to her leeringly. “I never thought I would want a lady with green skin. Ah, and there’s that blond goddess again, standing by the Lady’s elbow. I wonder which would be the better lover? Probably the green lady.”
As he spoke, though, his gaze had been mostly on Guinevere. He really didn’t care much for Vivienne or Niniane. He only mentioned them for his own amusement, and to distract Morgan from recognizing his continued interest in Guinevere. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice that he couldn’t peel his eyes from the Queen.
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daughterofdon - Estimated Grade Level: 6
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Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by Protoman X on Wed Nov 12, 2008 12:08 am
"Dammit, Elaine! Why did you leave on your own?" he cursed when he awoke. He found the comb and saw that Elaine was gone. Probably frightened off by what little he had told her last night. He knew it would just damn him in the end... and it seemed he was correct.
"I don't blame you for leaving... but you'll never survive on your own! Dammit! Why did I go and open my accursed mouth!" he hastely gathered his things and mounted Skorm. They'd ridden Skorm thus far, but now Marrik intended to use him to quickly catch up to Elaine. Though he was but a mortal horse, Skorm was fast, very fast, no doubt a product of Mother's magic, but still. Skorm's great speed would be invaluble in Marrik's pursuit of Elaine.
Skorm stormed through the forest, full speed. He probably enjoyed the run, because Marrik very rarely ran Skorm at his full speed. Even Elaine was unaware of just how fast the black horse could gallop, lest she learn of Marrik's origins. Marrik would have to tell her the truth now, she deserved to know.
He knew Elaine would head in the direction he led her in, so he ran Skorm that way. Skorm blazed through the trail at record speed. Soon, the rider approached a clearing, and slowed Skorm down a little. Surely, Elaine was in that clearing. She hadn't had a whole lot of time to get ahead, and Skorm was likely the fastest horse in Logres.
Skorm was in a walk as he entered the clearing, "Elaine! Why did you leave without me? You could be killed if you travel alone!" he was too worried about Elaine to notice there were others in the clearing.
"I don't blame you for leaving... but you'll never survive on your own! Dammit! Why did I go and open my accursed mouth!" he hastely gathered his things and mounted Skorm. They'd ridden Skorm thus far, but now Marrik intended to use him to quickly catch up to Elaine. Though he was but a mortal horse, Skorm was fast, very fast, no doubt a product of Mother's magic, but still. Skorm's great speed would be invaluble in Marrik's pursuit of Elaine.
Skorm stormed through the forest, full speed. He probably enjoyed the run, because Marrik very rarely ran Skorm at his full speed. Even Elaine was unaware of just how fast the black horse could gallop, lest she learn of Marrik's origins. Marrik would have to tell her the truth now, she deserved to know.
He knew Elaine would head in the direction he led her in, so he ran Skorm that way. Skorm blazed through the trail at record speed. Soon, the rider approached a clearing, and slowed Skorm down a little. Surely, Elaine was in that clearing. She hadn't had a whole lot of time to get ahead, and Skorm was likely the fastest horse in Logres.
Skorm was in a walk as he entered the clearing, "Elaine! Why did you leave without me? You could be killed if you travel alone!" he was too worried about Elaine to notice there were others in the clearing.
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Protoman X - Estimated Grade Level: 6
Grade Level of this post: 7
Re: Beyond the Lake (King Arthur) IC ( )
by Jadeling Hawkins on Wed Nov 12, 2008 1:41 am
As Lancelot woke and admired his bride, Alanna remained busily dreaming, her thoughts and heart full of her favorite dark-haired knight. Her lips pulled into a sleepy smile at his touches, her head inclined just the slightest bit to rest more firmly against his muscular shoulders and her arms slipped up to enjoy his embrace as he pulled her closer. All the while, she continued to breathe deeply and only half-awakened as Lancelot's wonderfully masculine scent was interrupted by the sudden presence of kelpie. At last, as Lancelot disentangled himself from her, Alanna's eyes fluttered partially open. The subtle smile that had been spreading across his lips, still somewhat swollen from the sudden excessive use the night before, grew even wider. She did not make any attempt to hide herself when he paused to gaze upon her naked form, both because she was still only partially awake...and because she was staring right back. The waves of muscle beneath his tanned skin, the lines that showed where his clothing had just the day before defined what was appropriate for her to view, the light hair that spanned his broad chest...every detail, down the the divots in his hair where her fingers had been buried through the night, caused her cheeks to flush with pleasure and her toes to curl.
But then he quickly covered her, though she knew not why, and Alanna was left to ease herself into a sitting position and yawn away the rest of her sleep.
"Mmn...such a glorious morning.." Alanna murmured, rubbing at her eyes and pulling the blanket up to a more modest position covering her chest. She felt oddly refreshed, as though somehow having Lancelot flooding over her before her dreams, rather than just during them, had resulted in a deeper rest. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that she had woken up directly next to the bravest, most charming, kindest, most alluring knight in the world...her husband. Her beloved husband!
While Lancelot shifted away from her and began to dress herself, Alanna sat up straighter and breathed deeply, dreamily running her fingers through her hair to smooth it. Her eyes were bright as she stared at her spouse's back, adoring and owning every sinew, the dips of his skin between his shoulder blades, and all of the signs left over from their adventures past. She exhaled softly, happily, and her fingers slowed in her hair. Her thoughts lingered on the way the light of the fire had shown on the stronger angles of his face during the sweet hours of their first night of acknowledged marriage, and her heart began to quicken its pace as she dwelled upon how great her love had blossomed for him since they had first met.
Alanna was taken by surprise when he suddenly turned to face her again, with the same smile upon his handsome face that he used when he was feeling particularly amorous...and which she had never yet been able to walk away from. At first, she blushed to have been caught staring so possessively and so longingly at him behind his back. But she quickly recovered and grinned, pulling the blanket up a bit further and moving faithfully over by his side.
"I fare wonderfully, my love," Alanna replied with an almost cheeky grin, leaning up to grant her husband the kiss he had quietly been pulling for. Before she did, she lifted one hand to delicately touch his cheek, adoring the light in his eyes and the strength of his jaw. "For find myself in wonderful company!"
And then she kissed him, sweetly and adoringly as a devoted wife should. But the kiss lingered, and by the time Alanna pulled away for breath she had somehow shifted from kneeling at Lancelot's side to sitting astride his lap, the blanket nearly forgotten back on the makeshift bed where she had began. She laughed, throwing her arms joyfully around his shoulders and resting her brow against his. "With our union, there can be no more jovial woman than I!"
But Alanna's laughter, along with her consideration of delaying the continuation of their journey for a few hours more, came to a crashing halt with the sudden sound of a polite and bashful hail at the edge of their campsite.
Alanna's head snapped around to spy a young lass, nervously toying with her hair. The lady knight emit an uncharacteristic squeak, almost as though she were frightened, and she dove off of Lancelot's lap to hide herself behind his back and attempt to cover her naked form more effectively. Of course, then she was made to realize that she had left her husband virtually unclothed before a stranger (a woman, no less!) and she just as quickly flicked the blanket off of herself and around to shield him. She used his larger frame to shield herself, and simply hoped that he would have the sense to remain still. "H-h-hello there!" She at last squeaked back to the girl, barely peeping out over Lancelot's shoulder. "We...ah...that is, my husband and I...we did not believe there to be any living thing...near here...for miles! M-might I ask what..."
But Alanna's weak sort of apology and questioning fell dead silent with the sound of an approaching horse. The lady was not alone, it seemed, in being a rude reminder that there were, in fact, other humans somewhere else in the world. But the rider of the horse, even more than the sudden harsh breaking away of the happy start of a honeymoon, sent tremblings through Alanna's whole being. For there, sitting astride the same black horse she had last seen him fleeing on, was the son of Mab.
"L..Lancelot! 'Tis Marrik!" Alanna gasped, clutching at her husband's shoulders as she remained rooted behind him. But her voice, though stunned, and her trembling, though powerful, were not a sign of fear. Nay, she was angry. She could hardly take notice of the fact that Marrik was now speaking almost gently, if concerned, towards the young woman. All Alanna could see was the fiery eyed demon whom she had fought, and who had sneered at her as though she were little more than an appetizer on his way to destroy her beloved. "Fiend! Come back for a second round, have you?!"
Alanna, still hiding behind Lancelot's for modesty's sake, attempted to reach out and grab hold of Justice's sheath. Though she ended up quite possibly flashing a healthy amount of shoulder and collar bone to the intruders, she at last retrieved the blade and drew it, her arms coming out from behind Lancelot to rest on his shoulders to issue her fierce challenge. One fist shook, the other pointed Justice at the bedamned son of Mab as though daring him to take even a step towards her husband-come-clothing (all the while being extremely careful not to wave the blade within even a foot of his precious form). "Have at you, offspring of evil!"
But then he quickly covered her, though she knew not why, and Alanna was left to ease herself into a sitting position and yawn away the rest of her sleep.
"Mmn...such a glorious morning.." Alanna murmured, rubbing at her eyes and pulling the blanket up to a more modest position covering her chest. She felt oddly refreshed, as though somehow having Lancelot flooding over her before her dreams, rather than just during them, had resulted in a deeper rest. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that she had woken up directly next to the bravest, most charming, kindest, most alluring knight in the world...her husband. Her beloved husband!
While Lancelot shifted away from her and began to dress herself, Alanna sat up straighter and breathed deeply, dreamily running her fingers through her hair to smooth it. Her eyes were bright as she stared at her spouse's back, adoring and owning every sinew, the dips of his skin between his shoulder blades, and all of the signs left over from their adventures past. She exhaled softly, happily, and her fingers slowed in her hair. Her thoughts lingered on the way the light of the fire had shown on the stronger angles of his face during the sweet hours of their first night of acknowledged marriage, and her heart began to quicken its pace as she dwelled upon how great her love had blossomed for him since they had first met.
Alanna was taken by surprise when he suddenly turned to face her again, with the same smile upon his handsome face that he used when he was feeling particularly amorous...and which she had never yet been able to walk away from. At first, she blushed to have been caught staring so possessively and so longingly at him behind his back. But she quickly recovered and grinned, pulling the blanket up a bit further and moving faithfully over by his side.
"I fare wonderfully, my love," Alanna replied with an almost cheeky grin, leaning up to grant her husband the kiss he had quietly been pulling for. Before she did, she lifted one hand to delicately touch his cheek, adoring the light in his eyes and the strength of his jaw. "For find myself in wonderful company!"
And then she kissed him, sweetly and adoringly as a devoted wife should. But the kiss lingered, and by the time Alanna pulled away for breath she had somehow shifted from kneeling at Lancelot's side to sitting astride his lap, the blanket nearly forgotten back on the makeshift bed where she had began. She laughed, throwing her arms joyfully around his shoulders and resting her brow against his. "With our union, there can be no more jovial woman than I!"
But Alanna's laughter, along with her consideration of delaying the continuation of their journey for a few hours more, came to a crashing halt with the sudden sound of a polite and bashful hail at the edge of their campsite.
Alanna's head snapped around to spy a young lass, nervously toying with her hair. The lady knight emit an uncharacteristic squeak, almost as though she were frightened, and she dove off of Lancelot's lap to hide herself behind his back and attempt to cover her naked form more effectively. Of course, then she was made to realize that she had left her husband virtually unclothed before a stranger (a woman, no less!) and she just as quickly flicked the blanket off of herself and around to shield him. She used his larger frame to shield herself, and simply hoped that he would have the sense to remain still. "H-h-hello there!" She at last squeaked back to the girl, barely peeping out over Lancelot's shoulder. "We...ah...that is, my husband and I...we did not believe there to be any living thing...near here...for miles! M-might I ask what..."
But Alanna's weak sort of apology and questioning fell dead silent with the sound of an approaching horse. The lady was not alone, it seemed, in being a rude reminder that there were, in fact, other humans somewhere else in the world. But the rider of the horse, even more than the sudden harsh breaking away of the happy start of a honeymoon, sent tremblings through Alanna's whole being. For there, sitting astride the same black horse she had last seen him fleeing on, was the son of Mab.
"L..Lancelot! 'Tis Marrik!" Alanna gasped, clutching at her husband's shoulders as she remained rooted behind him. But her voice, though stunned, and her trembling, though powerful, were not a sign of fear. Nay, she was angry. She could hardly take notice of the fact that Marrik was now speaking almost gently, if concerned, towards the young woman. All Alanna could see was the fiery eyed demon whom she had fought, and who had sneered at her as though she were little more than an appetizer on his way to destroy her beloved. "Fiend! Come back for a second round, have you?!"
Alanna, still hiding behind Lancelot's for modesty's sake, attempted to reach out and grab hold of Justice's sheath. Though she ended up quite possibly flashing a healthy amount of shoulder and collar bone to the intruders, she at last retrieved the blade and drew it, her arms coming out from behind Lancelot to rest on his shoulders to issue her fierce challenge. One fist shook, the other pointed Justice at the bedamned son of Mab as though daring him to take even a step towards her husband-come-clothing (all the while being extremely careful not to wave the blade within even a foot of his precious form). "Have at you, offspring of evil!"
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