((Closed rp for now. I'll fix typos later. Blame Kasey.))
The mid day sun was already sinking into the deep lush green to the west of the valley, as Julius began his descent. The trail before him stretched out unevenly, winding through the tall oak trees towering over either side. Julius kept his eyes down cast as he followed the familiar trail before him, his light pack loosely slung over his shoulder and his hand held at the blade hilt to his side. His delicate face was now seemingly windburned as he bore a set, placid look, and only his wide blue eyes revealed the inner restless energy that burned beneath his outward exterior. Many years before, he had walked down this same path, full of confidence and the swagger of a man just returning from a victory at war. Now, he returned with nothing but defeat and the posture to prove it.
There was a light chill in the mid evening air as he raised a hand to clutch the collar of his open shirt closer to his neck. He'd be there shortly and his.. anxiety and worry of the reaction he'd receive grew with every step. As he began to descent even further down the slope, he couldn't help but notice how the huge trees hung around him shut out most of the sun light, leaving him alone to his thoughts. Because he must have traveled this same route a hundred times before, he quickly became aware of the unusual stillness that seemed to have captivated in the entire valley as though it was awaiting the same fate as Julius was. The deep silence was unsettling as he forced himself to whistle and to think of how he should speak to his father.
Finally as he stepped from the overhanging of the low branched trees, his eyes fully could see the valley below. He stopped short for a moment to take it in. His old home lay on a shrub covered grassland, maybe 50 acres at the most. Good for growing fresh produce and for a young lad to spend his summer days getting into trouble. Within moments after beginning his climb down, it seemed to him as though he was already at the door of the large mansion. To him, he felt as though he had little time to prepare for his father's tongue lashing.
The farmers and slaves that were tilling the land and doing other chores all seemed to give him a weary look as he stepped up, even a few dropping there work all together. As he pulled open the door, he seemed to waste no time to enter. He hung a right and took a deep breath as he pushed through two large doors. He was met with almost eerily darkness, the large room only being lit by a dim candle at the far end. His father sit in a chair before him, his features hidden behind his mask of dim lighting. He motioned to the seat before his own as he spoke. "Seat yourself."
Julius obliged as he stepped forward and rounded the chair, allowing his breath to come slowly as he took the seat. He brought his eyes to even with his father's face as he spoke from the darkness.
"You have bad news, I suppose? Your sister ran from me because I tried to give her a good life. Are you here to tell me I've done wrong?"
Julius lifted a hand briefly as he spoke, adding only a few words in reply to his own. "I'm here to tell you she is dead, father."
______________________________________________
The tears would not stop as his eyes stood over the flame at the Sea horse. In the dark night, the flame was the only thing that brought light and attention to his red eyes and tear stricken face. Though the ever present picture of his sister's face was now worn into his mind like that of a branded livestock, there was more behind the sad tone he had bottled up since her death and released over the fire every night. Not only had he lost his sister, he had lost friends and even more family over the past few days. With his titles, he seemed to lose something in return. His fiance had even left him. He began to ponder the thought of how much one man could endure or lose without himself losing his mind or worse, his own life.
He raised a hand to his eyes and wiped it across them, coming to rest on either side of his nose as he gave it a slight pinch. His attempts at thinking of her and the other lost ones in a different manner then their death had all but failed since now. But as the pain began to dull, his mind sparked with the thoughts of his family. He remembered when he was but a young lad, his heart racing with suspense as he watched his older brother spar with his trainer in the court yard. He was innocent then, though he bared the flame orange hair of a Rothman his crimes were minimal other then the times he'd lie about playing with his father's sword.
That day was different however, that night he was awoken in his slumber to hear his mother scream out. At first, the young Julius summoned up the heated courage to reach for his wooden sword and step from his door, the thought of protecting his mother on his mind. But as he stepped towards the door, candle light flowing from it into the main hall to light his path, he was suddenly shaved aside by one of the butlers.
"Get back to bed, lad. Your mother's in labor."
The young Julius nodded once to the man as he took away his sword, his face turning an evident red as he trailed off to bed. Now, as he stood over the court yard and watched the practiced strokes of the now adolescent Stephen, his heart wasn't pacing because of the next strike or the next parry, somewhere inside of him he couldn't wait to see his newest sibling. As Stephen pulled the helm from his sweat soaked brow and sheathed the blade to his belt, he called out for him to join him at the court yard. The young Julius trotted now to his side and gripped his hand firmly, walking side by side to the main entrance of the Rothman estates.
As they winded the circular staircase to the upper floors, Julius couldn't help but notice the evident cry of a baby on the air. He glanced up to his brother with a firm smile on his face, quickening the pace of his small legs as he came to the top. As he turned the corner to peer into the room, his father sit in the far end of the room beside the bed, his features masked by the shadows and pulled curtains. His mother lay exhausted on the bed, in a seated manner against the bed post, a bundled ball in her arms. As she saw her two sons round the corner, a weak and frail smile pulled her lips to the side. Julius ran forward and climbed over the side of the bed, much to the protest of the several servants inside. Though, his mother didn't seem to care much of the act as she pulled back the cloth slightly to allow the young boy to peer inside.
Julius let out a brief snuffle as the tears in his eyes began to pour more freely, his hand dropping to his sides. He shook his head free from the tears as another memory of her raced through his mind. Though, at one point as the images rekindled in his mind Julius fought hard to hold the memories back. But slowly he gave in and fell to the chair beside him, in a rather defeated and limp position.
His sword cut through her defense easily as he stepped from side to side. He muttered a few quick words to the young girl as he did so, though a rather uninterested gaze was evident in his eyes. "Keep your head up and bend at the knees. Has Father even taught you anything in my absence?"
The young woman failed to reply as she swung her blade at him into him with what seemed to be all the energy she could muster. Julius parried the blow and brought his leg forward, stepping to the side to send the off balance Lairia to the ground. He sheathed his blade as he shook his head, not even looking down to her as he spoke, "I'm going to speak with the Baron of the lands South of our own. His daughter is.. quite.. attractive to say the least. Do be on your best behavior and don't make a fool of your father's name."
With that and a curved smirk he stepped over her and went on his way. His memory of that event was quite embarrassing to him as he stood over the flame. Back then, he had been like his father. His sister wasn't.. exactly blood but merely a pawn to gain further advancement upon the isle. With her, a daughter of noble birth, there were many possibilities of marriages that would benefit Trent and his sons. He knew now that he wouldn't treat his own daughter the same.
After a moment he slowly rose a hand to place against his cheek. The pain was unbearable, like a hot bar of iron fresh from the furnace. Not only did he have to deal with the pain of losing loved ones, but now this. He swallowed hard as he knelled down to one knee, ripping free a small dagger from his belt. He sucked in a deep breath, his thoughts still on the fallen members of his family. Then, his mind flashed with the thoughts of those who were still left, though few he supposed they were worth living for.
He gazed down at the polished steel of the dagger briefly, his eyes meeting the intensity of the flame in the back ground. He pulled his hand from his cheek and lifted the dagger as he opened his mouth in a slight groan. A flash of blood and a loud shout was heard next as blood trickled to the floor. He bowed over the puddle of blood, dropping the dagger to the floor. He spoke a words to himself as he cupped his hand to his eyes and looked over the white formation in his hand. The blood continued to trickle onto the floor as his eyes sizzled with pain, only briefly did he whisper something.
I'm sorry.
Bittersweet
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For moments either sit in the enclosed silence, not bothering to make any move. Suddenly, his father stood in a slow manner, his worn old shoulders sagging as he hobbled over towards the dimly lit desk, only partially was the side of his face exposed. Julius closed his eyes in thought as he slowly rested his head back against the support of the chair, sucking in a deep breath of wind. One eye popped open suddenly as he heard it, the faint echo of a murmured sniffle escape from his father. A man that would barely ever issue his son a hug or a pat on the shoulder was weeping within inches of him. It took a moment for the thought to settle as it began to vibrate throughout him, causing a thick shiver to run down his spine.
He rose boldly, not thinking clearly as he hunched forward to place his hand on the older man's back. A deep growl like that of a pregnant mutt fell from his sunken figure as he lifted a shoulder and brushed Julius' hand away. Julius knew somewhere in the back of his mind that this was the reaction he'd receive, yet something about his father weeping told him to try his best to comfort him. Slowly, almost hesitantly he joined him in leaning on his arms for support over the long table, brushing a few words past his lips his way.
"I understand what it is like to lose a child, father. Roy has perished as well. Tis my fault that either died and I shall take the blame."
________________________________________________________________________________________
Julius' lips riffled up into a coy smile as his eyes danced over the elfess' form that sit before him. She wanted him, he thought to himself, and he must keep it that way as his young eyes drifted past her with a slanted head to the other pairs of the tavern that were lustfully planted on her back. He turned his eyes back to her face as he leans his chest against the edge of the table, offering her few whispered words as he continued to gauge her reaction. Suddenly, she bent her head back, lifting a hand to brush through her thick black hair, squinting her eyes over him as she whispered in a unsure tone.
"How old are you anyway?"
Julius gave a faint grunt to her whisper before he replied in a positive aura, the smile replacing his open lips once more.
"Does it really matter?"
9 months later
This was the worst thing that could happen repeated dully in his mind. His chest heaved with every step in pain as he ran, his face pounding with every beat of his thudding heart. What are the chances? The same words overlapped the others as he dashed through the open corn field, the sound of dogs barking behind him. Even in the dark, he knew the path through these fields better then even those who worked the land. He had spent much of his early childhood whistling through the corn or simply sitting in the middle in silent contemplation.
Julius cried out in anguish as he fell face first into the dirt, his foot wedging in between a loose root and the ground. He swallowed deeply, his throat dry. The rage that empowered him to move on now gradually went away, softening his eyes and exhausting his body into weariness as he began to press himself up from the dirt covered ground. Every emotion lay on the brink of detonation beneath the surface of his skin, his skull pounding as though it were being hammered by the steel tip of a iron mace. A sick feeling suddenly crept up and climbed through his body, unnatural and unwelcome. His chest heaved with every breath as all his emotions collided once more and told his legs to move him forward.
Where was he going? He had no idea, but he did know that he was not ready for his father's lashes and to raise a child. He would return one day, sure, he knew that was certain. His vision began to cloud as he ran, a slow kind of blurring that faded into darkness and back renewed in a flash of the images of the flame red hair peaking out of the top of the bundle in her hands. He tried his best to shake his head free of the image as the corn stalks whipped against the side of his face, causing most of his once fair skin to have a nice complexion of scratches.
He placed his hands on his knees and bent over, catching his breath as he finally came to the end of the cornfield. Before him lay stretches of unknown, fields he would never dare venture to for the fear of getting lost. He gave a brief chuckle before he stepped forward and became one with the thick darkness of the field, the chant of barking still high in the air behind him.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
His nose raised into a snarl as he glanced his way, his brows lifted in a cynical manner as he snapped a few words.
"Tis not your fault, actually. Tis mine for believing you were fit for such a simple task of actually protecting your family. I even sent you my most trusted bodyguard. Now tell me, son.. how could you screw that up?"
He kept his eyes on the thick wood of the table before him as he gulped out the answer, turning an innocent gaze towards his face.
"Drethek has died as well, Father."
He rose boldly, not thinking clearly as he hunched forward to place his hand on the older man's back. A deep growl like that of a pregnant mutt fell from his sunken figure as he lifted a shoulder and brushed Julius' hand away. Julius knew somewhere in the back of his mind that this was the reaction he'd receive, yet something about his father weeping told him to try his best to comfort him. Slowly, almost hesitantly he joined him in leaning on his arms for support over the long table, brushing a few words past his lips his way.
"I understand what it is like to lose a child, father. Roy has perished as well. Tis my fault that either died and I shall take the blame."
________________________________________________________________________________________
Julius' lips riffled up into a coy smile as his eyes danced over the elfess' form that sit before him. She wanted him, he thought to himself, and he must keep it that way as his young eyes drifted past her with a slanted head to the other pairs of the tavern that were lustfully planted on her back. He turned his eyes back to her face as he leans his chest against the edge of the table, offering her few whispered words as he continued to gauge her reaction. Suddenly, she bent her head back, lifting a hand to brush through her thick black hair, squinting her eyes over him as she whispered in a unsure tone.
"How old are you anyway?"
Julius gave a faint grunt to her whisper before he replied in a positive aura, the smile replacing his open lips once more.
"Does it really matter?"
9 months later
This was the worst thing that could happen repeated dully in his mind. His chest heaved with every step in pain as he ran, his face pounding with every beat of his thudding heart. What are the chances? The same words overlapped the others as he dashed through the open corn field, the sound of dogs barking behind him. Even in the dark, he knew the path through these fields better then even those who worked the land. He had spent much of his early childhood whistling through the corn or simply sitting in the middle in silent contemplation.
Julius cried out in anguish as he fell face first into the dirt, his foot wedging in between a loose root and the ground. He swallowed deeply, his throat dry. The rage that empowered him to move on now gradually went away, softening his eyes and exhausting his body into weariness as he began to press himself up from the dirt covered ground. Every emotion lay on the brink of detonation beneath the surface of his skin, his skull pounding as though it were being hammered by the steel tip of a iron mace. A sick feeling suddenly crept up and climbed through his body, unnatural and unwelcome. His chest heaved with every breath as all his emotions collided once more and told his legs to move him forward.
Where was he going? He had no idea, but he did know that he was not ready for his father's lashes and to raise a child. He would return one day, sure, he knew that was certain. His vision began to cloud as he ran, a slow kind of blurring that faded into darkness and back renewed in a flash of the images of the flame red hair peaking out of the top of the bundle in her hands. He tried his best to shake his head free of the image as the corn stalks whipped against the side of his face, causing most of his once fair skin to have a nice complexion of scratches.
He placed his hands on his knees and bent over, catching his breath as he finally came to the end of the cornfield. Before him lay stretches of unknown, fields he would never dare venture to for the fear of getting lost. He gave a brief chuckle before he stepped forward and became one with the thick darkness of the field, the chant of barking still high in the air behind him.
________________________________________________________________________________________________
His nose raised into a snarl as he glanced his way, his brows lifted in a cynical manner as he snapped a few words.
"Tis not your fault, actually. Tis mine for believing you were fit for such a simple task of actually protecting your family. I even sent you my most trusted bodyguard. Now tell me, son.. how could you screw that up?"
He kept his eyes on the thick wood of the table before him as he gulped out the answer, turning an innocent gaze towards his face.
"Drethek has died as well, Father."
He lifted a gloved hand from his mounted position against the horse, his eyes straining to gaze over the open field before him. The distance between the army that was behind him and the one before him was not great, nor was the difference of army size. Yet, one major problem faced the one he stood in front of. They had lost most of their men the past few days to a vicious disease that crept up and caused most of his men to die before night fall of the first day of infection. This led to shrinking of numbers and loss of morale. It took all the restraint he had to stop from pulling out the white flag, his army sounding like a makeshift hospitial, coughing and wheezing raising into the air behind him. He nodded once as he gave a wink to the short, stout male sited on a white horse beside him before he whipped the horse around, his expression firm as his eyes trailed across the unsteady lines of men assembled. He spoke in a commanding tone, even if he did not even believe his own words.
"You've lost many friends, allies, and even family members these past days. And by what, I must ask? Not because of an illness. Because these bastards before you decided to do something to call your sorry arses here. Now, you may stand and fight, you may die.. but I promise you that there is no greater thrill then charging onto that battlefield. Go home if you must. As your lying in your death bed from the same disease, or these Albarian renegades decide they wish to invade your home.. you'll think to yourself about the decision you made this day. Ride with me and wipe this scum off the face of this wind swept terrain."
With that he raised his sword, giving a Salkamarian war cry as he turned his horse, keeping it raised as he glanced back over the army before him. He leaned over slightly to whisper to the man beside him, the side of his mouth facing him slipping up in an arrogant grin.
"Not bad, eh?"
The short man just muttered under his breath as he kept his eyes on the army, his hands clutching his reigns. Julius simply shrugged his shoulders before he turned back to the army, pointing his blade forward as he leaned up in the harness, calling his men to follow as he began his descent down the slope of the hill. Arrows rained past them as they flowed down in a wave, his eyes fixed forward, he could hardly make out the horses on either side pummeling to the ground after being struck with the fine fletched arrows. Suddenly, as though all the air was sucked out of the area, the two sides crashed together, the shrill of horses breaking the sudden gust of excretion as men began to slice their blades into each other, crying out in pain.
Julius on the other hand had broken past the first line, his attention on the several mounted men behind the very back row of the armed forces. With a whoosh, he felt himself detached from his mouth, a large pike smacking flatly against his chest. He blinked several times as he lay on his back amidst the fighting, shaking his head to clear the grogginess from the fall. He had little time to react as he stood, a hatchet brushed over his head, himself slanting back. The blade of the hatchet came within inches of his face, even going as far as chopping off a lock of flame red hair that flowed his way from his quick attempt to avoid the blade.
Every thing between the two warriors began to slow as they strained against each other, matching each parry of ether's blade with one of their own. The exchange went on for several long moments as Julius slowly felt himself being backed up to defend against his enclosing opponent. Another cry fell from his lips as he slipped to one knee, someone's blade finding the back of his knee. His breathing came in short rasps as he turned his eyes upwards to the man before him, the blood rushing back to his knuckles as his blade fell freely to the ground. With a grin on his face, the man brought the axe blade across the front of his neck quickly, blood beginning to ooze through the loose chain mail that surrounded it.
His eyes slowly closed as he fell forward at the man's feet, blood trickling down his neck and sputtering over the clean grass. He gasped for air as his brain began to speed up with thoughts to himself.
This is how it ends, Julius. Just a warrior on the battlefield. You will forgotten with time, the son of a distant noble killed in action because of his failure to slay a simple warrior in the midst of battle. I wonder if this what the others on this battlefield feel at the moment? I lay here wondering how I will portrayed.. not because I'm superficial but because I have nothing to go home to. My life, my name, my birth right and the deeds I do are my only possessions in this world. I suppose I leave nothing behind then. Farewell, my friend.
With that, he slowly began to drift off, losing consciousnesses.
____________________________________________________________________________
His parched and cracked lips parted to breath in a quick gasp as he rolled over onto his back, crusted blood laying around the base of his chin. He watched the sky for many long moments as he lay with his back against the ground, the smell of death around him, with the occasional cry in pain or shrill scream. His chest moved up and down as he rose a hand to brush across the crusted mat of blood. As he did so, his ears could make out the faint sound of Albarian behind him. With the limited knowledge of the language and seemingly far distance from the source of the voice, it was hard to make out any real words.
Many moments past after the last string of words fell upon his ears. Before long another voice was heard. This time, all hope he had been harboring of making it out of this stench filled battlefield was lost as his heart sunk. The words "Fire!" were clearly rung throughout the air. This time, after admitting he was going to die and waking up to life, he was less enthusiastic at giving it up. But there was nothing he could do. With every muscle straining in his body, it was impossible to lift himself from the canvas of the battlefield, the pain in his leg showing no mercy to his impeding doom.
He closed his lips as he allowed himself to began lump, titling his chin back as his eyes gazed up into the sky, the faint outlining of the sun through the dense fog being blunted out by the thick cloud of arrows. He allowed a smile to cross his lips as he closed his eyes, waiting diligently for the arrows to sink into his body.
Wooosh.. Wooosh.. Clink.. Clink..
This is what it felt like, he thought to himself as the presence of someone overcame him, darkness encasing face.
He opened one eye to peer over a small man that stood before him, the shield he wielded seemingly too big for his small frame as he held it up against the onslaught of arrows. The smile never left his face as the man glanced down to him, growling a few words to him as continued to push back against the shield, reaching his free hand down towards him.
"Git your sorry arse up, you bastard. I didn't risk my own arse for you to lay there all day."
He took the hand almost greedily as he pulled himself up to one leg, doing his best in keeping in front of the small man and his shield. They both stumbled forward over the blood drenched battlefield, their feet climbing over the backs of fallen comrades and enemies alike. In what seemed like hours, they finally made it to the brush of the nearby trees.
___________________________________________________________
Suddenly a cackle escaped the old man as he leaned into his son, his eyes tracing over his cheek as he spoke into his ear.
"You haven't told me, son.. what power could defeat half the Rothmans on one isle. Surely they can't be that strong."
He replied as he stiffened to his touch, one hand instinctively tapping the blade hilt at his belt, "It is more the one group, I think. Rather hard to do death to someone who is so elusive and quick."
Another cackle escaped the old man as he slipped over the back of the seemingly smaller younger man, craning his neck forward to rest against his son's shoulder as he gazed to him from the mirror. This was the first time had seen any comparison of his own features to his Fathers'. It seemed as though he were looking into a mirror of himself in 30 something years. Beside that, the chill that had raged throughout his body for the entire journey here began to sharpen in it's exasperating hold on his stomach. Slowly the man began to whisper, his hands gripping his shoulders tightly.
"Become thy enemy."
"You've lost many friends, allies, and even family members these past days. And by what, I must ask? Not because of an illness. Because these bastards before you decided to do something to call your sorry arses here. Now, you may stand and fight, you may die.. but I promise you that there is no greater thrill then charging onto that battlefield. Go home if you must. As your lying in your death bed from the same disease, or these Albarian renegades decide they wish to invade your home.. you'll think to yourself about the decision you made this day. Ride with me and wipe this scum off the face of this wind swept terrain."
With that he raised his sword, giving a Salkamarian war cry as he turned his horse, keeping it raised as he glanced back over the army before him. He leaned over slightly to whisper to the man beside him, the side of his mouth facing him slipping up in an arrogant grin.
"Not bad, eh?"
The short man just muttered under his breath as he kept his eyes on the army, his hands clutching his reigns. Julius simply shrugged his shoulders before he turned back to the army, pointing his blade forward as he leaned up in the harness, calling his men to follow as he began his descent down the slope of the hill. Arrows rained past them as they flowed down in a wave, his eyes fixed forward, he could hardly make out the horses on either side pummeling to the ground after being struck with the fine fletched arrows. Suddenly, as though all the air was sucked out of the area, the two sides crashed together, the shrill of horses breaking the sudden gust of excretion as men began to slice their blades into each other, crying out in pain.
Julius on the other hand had broken past the first line, his attention on the several mounted men behind the very back row of the armed forces. With a whoosh, he felt himself detached from his mouth, a large pike smacking flatly against his chest. He blinked several times as he lay on his back amidst the fighting, shaking his head to clear the grogginess from the fall. He had little time to react as he stood, a hatchet brushed over his head, himself slanting back. The blade of the hatchet came within inches of his face, even going as far as chopping off a lock of flame red hair that flowed his way from his quick attempt to avoid the blade.
Every thing between the two warriors began to slow as they strained against each other, matching each parry of ether's blade with one of their own. The exchange went on for several long moments as Julius slowly felt himself being backed up to defend against his enclosing opponent. Another cry fell from his lips as he slipped to one knee, someone's blade finding the back of his knee. His breathing came in short rasps as he turned his eyes upwards to the man before him, the blood rushing back to his knuckles as his blade fell freely to the ground. With a grin on his face, the man brought the axe blade across the front of his neck quickly, blood beginning to ooze through the loose chain mail that surrounded it.
His eyes slowly closed as he fell forward at the man's feet, blood trickling down his neck and sputtering over the clean grass. He gasped for air as his brain began to speed up with thoughts to himself.
This is how it ends, Julius. Just a warrior on the battlefield. You will forgotten with time, the son of a distant noble killed in action because of his failure to slay a simple warrior in the midst of battle. I wonder if this what the others on this battlefield feel at the moment? I lay here wondering how I will portrayed.. not because I'm superficial but because I have nothing to go home to. My life, my name, my birth right and the deeds I do are my only possessions in this world. I suppose I leave nothing behind then. Farewell, my friend.
With that, he slowly began to drift off, losing consciousnesses.
____________________________________________________________________________
His parched and cracked lips parted to breath in a quick gasp as he rolled over onto his back, crusted blood laying around the base of his chin. He watched the sky for many long moments as he lay with his back against the ground, the smell of death around him, with the occasional cry in pain or shrill scream. His chest moved up and down as he rose a hand to brush across the crusted mat of blood. As he did so, his ears could make out the faint sound of Albarian behind him. With the limited knowledge of the language and seemingly far distance from the source of the voice, it was hard to make out any real words.
Many moments past after the last string of words fell upon his ears. Before long another voice was heard. This time, all hope he had been harboring of making it out of this stench filled battlefield was lost as his heart sunk. The words "Fire!" were clearly rung throughout the air. This time, after admitting he was going to die and waking up to life, he was less enthusiastic at giving it up. But there was nothing he could do. With every muscle straining in his body, it was impossible to lift himself from the canvas of the battlefield, the pain in his leg showing no mercy to his impeding doom.
He closed his lips as he allowed himself to began lump, titling his chin back as his eyes gazed up into the sky, the faint outlining of the sun through the dense fog being blunted out by the thick cloud of arrows. He allowed a smile to cross his lips as he closed his eyes, waiting diligently for the arrows to sink into his body.
Wooosh.. Wooosh.. Clink.. Clink..
This is what it felt like, he thought to himself as the presence of someone overcame him, darkness encasing face.
He opened one eye to peer over a small man that stood before him, the shield he wielded seemingly too big for his small frame as he held it up against the onslaught of arrows. The smile never left his face as the man glanced down to him, growling a few words to him as continued to push back against the shield, reaching his free hand down towards him.
"Git your sorry arse up, you bastard. I didn't risk my own arse for you to lay there all day."
He took the hand almost greedily as he pulled himself up to one leg, doing his best in keeping in front of the small man and his shield. They both stumbled forward over the blood drenched battlefield, their feet climbing over the backs of fallen comrades and enemies alike. In what seemed like hours, they finally made it to the brush of the nearby trees.
___________________________________________________________
Suddenly a cackle escaped the old man as he leaned into his son, his eyes tracing over his cheek as he spoke into his ear.
"You haven't told me, son.. what power could defeat half the Rothmans on one isle. Surely they can't be that strong."
He replied as he stiffened to his touch, one hand instinctively tapping the blade hilt at his belt, "It is more the one group, I think. Rather hard to do death to someone who is so elusive and quick."
Another cackle escaped the old man as he slipped over the back of the seemingly smaller younger man, craning his neck forward to rest against his son's shoulder as he gazed to him from the mirror. This was the first time had seen any comparison of his own features to his Fathers'. It seemed as though he were looking into a mirror of himself in 30 something years. Beside that, the chill that had raged throughout his body for the entire journey here began to sharpen in it's exasperating hold on his stomach. Slowly the man began to whisper, his hands gripping his shoulders tightly.
"Become thy enemy."
The small framed man sit with his back propped to the large tree behind him, his hand laid gently on his blade hilt, his eyes watching the woods in the background of the man sleeping before him. Every once and a while, the small man would steal a glance down to the unshaven and unkept younger counter part strewn out on the ground below him, before grunting and giving a smirk to the stillness. It had been two days since he had went out of his way to save the bastard, and it had been two days of constant complaining from the lad. Scouting parties from the Albarian party were sent after them and due to the little time they made after the relatively grueling first day, they would be on them in a few hours if they chose to stay for very long. But of course, the unshaven man had to rest before he could push on any further, that much he insisted.
His eyes searched the woods before them once more with a longing gaze before he turned them upwards, towards the sky. The day had been fairly cool, unusually so for a midsummer day, and the night promised to be chill. Scattered clouds masked the sky, casting their silhouettes upon the people below, drifting about in the manner of aimless beasts. A hush filled the emptiness by the fading light like a voice waiting to speak.
A very small, earnest fire crackled and popped between the two man, managing to break the silence when a twig gave way. He studied the flame with a mixture of expectation and uneasiness before reaching down to add the larger chunks of deadwood that brought the flames up quickly. He poked at it with a withered old stick before slipping further back against the tree trunk, driven that way by the sudden surge of heat. He sit at the edge of the light, caught between the flame and the growing dark behind him.
His eyes glittered as he looked off into the distance once more, as the flame began to settle the uneasy hush befell their encampment again. The lad wrestled a few words out of his parched lips through his sleep as the fire sparked sharply and the small man brushed at a stray speck of glowing ash that threatened to settle on him. A more distinct pop was heard in the distance as the man's senses strained in to the woods before him. For moments he glared into the darkness, seeming to wrestle with his own mind to stop toying with him or whatever was lurking behind the brush to make a move. Then he heard it. The whistling sound of an arrow brushing through low hanging limbs and leaves, culminating with a audible *thud* as it sunk into the wood of the tree above him.
With a flash he told his tired body to push forward, his robes pulling back to reveal the glinting iron of his blade against the flickering flame, his creased tone matching it's intensity.
Woooooosh.. *thud*
He jerked his arm forward to wrestle the part of his robe pinned between the arrow and the tree violently and sent a unbalanced kick the lad's way, growling some inaudible words down to him through the now thick shouts coming from behind their make shift camp. The man rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself to his feet, bringing two hands to rub drowsily over his eyes as he gave a snarl, a unaware anger sizzling in his blood shot eyes.
"What? For f*ck sakes.. I can't slee.."
He never finished. The small man seemed to launch himself over the fire that separated them, bounding across with frightening swiftness. They both hit the ground and gave a huff from impact, arrows whooshing past and joining the other pair sunk into the base of the tree. The lad gulped roughly and gave a understanding look before he nodded his head and stood, not offering him a hand as he dashed off in the other direction. His jaw tightened in frustration as he quickly rose to his feet, regaining himself before he plunged into the darkness after him. He felt a hot streak race through him as he trudged through the woods. That bastard had gotten them into not only this situation of life or death, but the war in the first place. He had his orders to protect the lad, but it wouldn't be his fault if some Albarian marksman was just *that* good with a bow, now would it?
He could make out the lad's back now as the moonlight shined through the sketchy canopy above them. He tried pushing the matter from his mind for a moment, losing himself in the coolness of the cliffs now to the left of the dwindling pathway the lad had decided to take; but like a frightened child clinging to it's mother, it refused to release it's grip. The burden of taking care of this bastard could be relieved so easily. Something bumped those thoughts out of his mindset quickly enough as he gained on the slowing man, arrows falling lifelessly to the ground about them. The stern features of his father and the commanding aura his placid stare held when he spoke to him rustled through his mind.
He couldn't let him down.
______________________________________________________________
Nearly a year before he had sit before the same man, his posture steady and upright as he avoided his eye contact. That day, he could have easily told the man he didn't want to do it, yet he had and the decision had more repercussions then he had wanted it to. Who knew protecting a noble's son would be as hard as babysitting a child who had a cold. But he would do it anyway. His orders were to keep a safe, yet garnered distance from the lad and protect him should he get himself in any kind of trouble while he spent the week in the nearby town. He had no idea what was waiting for him.
The day was fairly boring for the older man, because the lad was supposed to be going on a week end trip away from the family estates, his father didn't want him to know he had sent his most trusted body guard to watch over him. Because of these pressing needs, he had to stick to the shadows of the pebbled street paved through the woods leading to the nearest town. He had no one's chatter to arouse his interest or anyone to simply help the time pass by quicker as he kept his distance from the man. All he had to comfort him was the sound of the lad's horse ramming his hooves down into the cobbled street and the sound of birds circling overhead.
Slowly after a good part of the day's trip down the winding path, they could begin to see the narrow path ending into a valley before them. At the right side, a battered old plank stood with a evident arrow carved pointing north. The words across the center had long since worn off and several indigenous plants had wrapped around themselves around it and found there home where words once rested. The town was minutes away. Through the shadows of the trees, his eyes finally fell on the young lad. From his posture on the settle of the horse, he could tell he held himself like most of the other red heads he had the esteemed pleasure of meeting while on living on those estates. Like something was up there arse.
As much as he felt the Rothman family was snooty, he had always saw Trent as someone he could relate to. Though he was aging and his face grew to show it every day, the man was still a formidable opponent with a sword. When had first signed on to protect the family, the man was still just on the outskirts of his prime. At first, when he saw the parchment hung in the local board he had smirked and laughed that he protect a noble who had never even wielded a blade. Instead, he had laughed at the thought of himself protecting a family that had already boasted a warrior of his magnitude. For that, the noble man who he would normally distaste, was given his respect.
The town was a simple one. The pebbled road ended into a dusted pathway of the small town, a few ramshackle buildings hanging to the north and a large chapel sit further up the hill. The town wasn't much to look out, other then the brothel who lustfully eyed the man who glided through the crowd a top his white maned horse. He joined the crowd as well as he placed his eyes on the figures' back, it's path seeming to be ending at the brothel before them. He gave a muttered laugh before he turned towards the tavern, pushing past the swinging doors.
No one even seemed to give him much of a second thought as he settled down into a chair in the far corner, pulling his hat down over his face as his eyes slowly drifted closed.
_______________________________________________________________
A large crash awoke the slumbering figure as he pulled the hat back up to rest more firmly on his head. He played it easy as his eyes lazily drifted over the tassel before him. A large robust man stood over a much smaller man, blond hair sprinkling the thick leather clothes he wore. When he spoke, he could easily make out the accent of the highlands in Eastern Albar. The bastards were as easy to make out as a salkamarian noble who played with cups more then swords. He paid little attention to the fighting then as he pulled a pipe free from his belt and slipped it between his lips, digging a hand down his collar to retrieve the necklace and the flint hung around it.
With a few snaps, the pipe lit and his lungs were filled with the pleasant filling of sibanac. The Albarian group before him seemed to pay him little heed other then a few glances his way, his presence almost entirely concealed by the little light that came fluttered his way from the dimly lit tavern. His eyes followed the Albarian's stare as the doors began to swing and the red headed lad peered through, his hair slightly disheveled and a grin pried over his lips. He never gave a glance his way as he stepped forward, sinking to sit along the bar, calling for a beer as the bartender slid him a full glass of a thick blackened liquid. He brought it to his lips and seemed to snarl in distaste as he gave it a brief sniff before downing it in a gulp. He stood as he slammed the goblet down and brushed the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away any remnants of the liquid as he stepped forward.
Only then did he take note of the rest of the tavern, a man with long stockings sit upon a stool seemingly taller then the room and blew down into a small lute, his fingers moving over the holes carved into the instrument with practiced enthusiasm. The red head lad now stood before a barmaid, her bustier seemingly too tight for her own good as she gave a cheeky laugh to whatever he whispered down to her. With a flash, the Albarian man was to his feet and was rounding the table to the red headed youth.
Drethek groaned lightly, sucking in a deep in take of the sibanac smoke down before standing to his feet and replacing his foot with the pipe on the table beside him. He watched the two wearily from a distance, his hand strumming along his leather bounded hilt. The expressions worn upon the Albarian man's face was one of gruff and impatient anger. Suddenly, from his distance from the conflict, with seemingly no warning, the man cocked his fist and sent the much larger, yet duty bound Julius to the ground. Drethek growled angrily to himself as he brought himself forward and gripped the Albarian man's collar and ripped him upwards, pulling him off the young lad. His eyes sizzled with a certain tone of fierceness as they registered his new foe, the small framed man before him.
His shoulders seem to sag in relief as the man's expression calmed and opened his mouth in the same Albarian tone.
"Just make sure your friend here doesn't come back around here again."
____________________________________________________________________
He had followed his duties and the lad down the moon lit cobbled street to the left of the tavern, keeping his distance still. Even so, from the faint light and the squinted view he could make out splotches of blood against his egg shell white shirt. He assumed a sheltered role in the shadows to the side of a building as he turned his attention back to the tavern. The Albarian man before had stumbled from the tavern, hollering a few inaudible words back to his comrades as he uneasily stepped forward. He came to a stop not too far from the tavern, a faint zip being heard as he leaned his head forward against the tree before him. Drethek gave a cold shiver against the pale night air, his eyes quickly flashing to the darting figure making his emergence to his left.
The Albarian man fell down the ground with a shrill shout that could be heard even over the still loud commotion within the small tavern. Julius' figure laid over the man, his fist ringing down into the man's face with a few loud, sickening thuds. Drethek unsheathed his blade and stepped from the shadows, his eyes on the Albarian dogs that rushed from the tavern.
And so it began.
His eyes searched the woods before them once more with a longing gaze before he turned them upwards, towards the sky. The day had been fairly cool, unusually so for a midsummer day, and the night promised to be chill. Scattered clouds masked the sky, casting their silhouettes upon the people below, drifting about in the manner of aimless beasts. A hush filled the emptiness by the fading light like a voice waiting to speak.
A very small, earnest fire crackled and popped between the two man, managing to break the silence when a twig gave way. He studied the flame with a mixture of expectation and uneasiness before reaching down to add the larger chunks of deadwood that brought the flames up quickly. He poked at it with a withered old stick before slipping further back against the tree trunk, driven that way by the sudden surge of heat. He sit at the edge of the light, caught between the flame and the growing dark behind him.
His eyes glittered as he looked off into the distance once more, as the flame began to settle the uneasy hush befell their encampment again. The lad wrestled a few words out of his parched lips through his sleep as the fire sparked sharply and the small man brushed at a stray speck of glowing ash that threatened to settle on him. A more distinct pop was heard in the distance as the man's senses strained in to the woods before him. For moments he glared into the darkness, seeming to wrestle with his own mind to stop toying with him or whatever was lurking behind the brush to make a move. Then he heard it. The whistling sound of an arrow brushing through low hanging limbs and leaves, culminating with a audible *thud* as it sunk into the wood of the tree above him.
With a flash he told his tired body to push forward, his robes pulling back to reveal the glinting iron of his blade against the flickering flame, his creased tone matching it's intensity.
Woooooosh.. *thud*
He jerked his arm forward to wrestle the part of his robe pinned between the arrow and the tree violently and sent a unbalanced kick the lad's way, growling some inaudible words down to him through the now thick shouts coming from behind their make shift camp. The man rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself to his feet, bringing two hands to rub drowsily over his eyes as he gave a snarl, a unaware anger sizzling in his blood shot eyes.
"What? For f*ck sakes.. I can't slee.."
He never finished. The small man seemed to launch himself over the fire that separated them, bounding across with frightening swiftness. They both hit the ground and gave a huff from impact, arrows whooshing past and joining the other pair sunk into the base of the tree. The lad gulped roughly and gave a understanding look before he nodded his head and stood, not offering him a hand as he dashed off in the other direction. His jaw tightened in frustration as he quickly rose to his feet, regaining himself before he plunged into the darkness after him. He felt a hot streak race through him as he trudged through the woods. That bastard had gotten them into not only this situation of life or death, but the war in the first place. He had his orders to protect the lad, but it wouldn't be his fault if some Albarian marksman was just *that* good with a bow, now would it?
He could make out the lad's back now as the moonlight shined through the sketchy canopy above them. He tried pushing the matter from his mind for a moment, losing himself in the coolness of the cliffs now to the left of the dwindling pathway the lad had decided to take; but like a frightened child clinging to it's mother, it refused to release it's grip. The burden of taking care of this bastard could be relieved so easily. Something bumped those thoughts out of his mindset quickly enough as he gained on the slowing man, arrows falling lifelessly to the ground about them. The stern features of his father and the commanding aura his placid stare held when he spoke to him rustled through his mind.
He couldn't let him down.
______________________________________________________________
Nearly a year before he had sit before the same man, his posture steady and upright as he avoided his eye contact. That day, he could have easily told the man he didn't want to do it, yet he had and the decision had more repercussions then he had wanted it to. Who knew protecting a noble's son would be as hard as babysitting a child who had a cold. But he would do it anyway. His orders were to keep a safe, yet garnered distance from the lad and protect him should he get himself in any kind of trouble while he spent the week in the nearby town. He had no idea what was waiting for him.
The day was fairly boring for the older man, because the lad was supposed to be going on a week end trip away from the family estates, his father didn't want him to know he had sent his most trusted body guard to watch over him. Because of these pressing needs, he had to stick to the shadows of the pebbled street paved through the woods leading to the nearest town. He had no one's chatter to arouse his interest or anyone to simply help the time pass by quicker as he kept his distance from the man. All he had to comfort him was the sound of the lad's horse ramming his hooves down into the cobbled street and the sound of birds circling overhead.
Slowly after a good part of the day's trip down the winding path, they could begin to see the narrow path ending into a valley before them. At the right side, a battered old plank stood with a evident arrow carved pointing north. The words across the center had long since worn off and several indigenous plants had wrapped around themselves around it and found there home where words once rested. The town was minutes away. Through the shadows of the trees, his eyes finally fell on the young lad. From his posture on the settle of the horse, he could tell he held himself like most of the other red heads he had the esteemed pleasure of meeting while on living on those estates. Like something was up there arse.
As much as he felt the Rothman family was snooty, he had always saw Trent as someone he could relate to. Though he was aging and his face grew to show it every day, the man was still a formidable opponent with a sword. When had first signed on to protect the family, the man was still just on the outskirts of his prime. At first, when he saw the parchment hung in the local board he had smirked and laughed that he protect a noble who had never even wielded a blade. Instead, he had laughed at the thought of himself protecting a family that had already boasted a warrior of his magnitude. For that, the noble man who he would normally distaste, was given his respect.
The town was a simple one. The pebbled road ended into a dusted pathway of the small town, a few ramshackle buildings hanging to the north and a large chapel sit further up the hill. The town wasn't much to look out, other then the brothel who lustfully eyed the man who glided through the crowd a top his white maned horse. He joined the crowd as well as he placed his eyes on the figures' back, it's path seeming to be ending at the brothel before them. He gave a muttered laugh before he turned towards the tavern, pushing past the swinging doors.
No one even seemed to give him much of a second thought as he settled down into a chair in the far corner, pulling his hat down over his face as his eyes slowly drifted closed.
_______________________________________________________________
A large crash awoke the slumbering figure as he pulled the hat back up to rest more firmly on his head. He played it easy as his eyes lazily drifted over the tassel before him. A large robust man stood over a much smaller man, blond hair sprinkling the thick leather clothes he wore. When he spoke, he could easily make out the accent of the highlands in Eastern Albar. The bastards were as easy to make out as a salkamarian noble who played with cups more then swords. He paid little attention to the fighting then as he pulled a pipe free from his belt and slipped it between his lips, digging a hand down his collar to retrieve the necklace and the flint hung around it.
With a few snaps, the pipe lit and his lungs were filled with the pleasant filling of sibanac. The Albarian group before him seemed to pay him little heed other then a few glances his way, his presence almost entirely concealed by the little light that came fluttered his way from the dimly lit tavern. His eyes followed the Albarian's stare as the doors began to swing and the red headed lad peered through, his hair slightly disheveled and a grin pried over his lips. He never gave a glance his way as he stepped forward, sinking to sit along the bar, calling for a beer as the bartender slid him a full glass of a thick blackened liquid. He brought it to his lips and seemed to snarl in distaste as he gave it a brief sniff before downing it in a gulp. He stood as he slammed the goblet down and brushed the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away any remnants of the liquid as he stepped forward.
Only then did he take note of the rest of the tavern, a man with long stockings sit upon a stool seemingly taller then the room and blew down into a small lute, his fingers moving over the holes carved into the instrument with practiced enthusiasm. The red head lad now stood before a barmaid, her bustier seemingly too tight for her own good as she gave a cheeky laugh to whatever he whispered down to her. With a flash, the Albarian man was to his feet and was rounding the table to the red headed youth.
Drethek groaned lightly, sucking in a deep in take of the sibanac smoke down before standing to his feet and replacing his foot with the pipe on the table beside him. He watched the two wearily from a distance, his hand strumming along his leather bounded hilt. The expressions worn upon the Albarian man's face was one of gruff and impatient anger. Suddenly, from his distance from the conflict, with seemingly no warning, the man cocked his fist and sent the much larger, yet duty bound Julius to the ground. Drethek growled angrily to himself as he brought himself forward and gripped the Albarian man's collar and ripped him upwards, pulling him off the young lad. His eyes sizzled with a certain tone of fierceness as they registered his new foe, the small framed man before him.
His shoulders seem to sag in relief as the man's expression calmed and opened his mouth in the same Albarian tone.
"Just make sure your friend here doesn't come back around here again."
____________________________________________________________________
He had followed his duties and the lad down the moon lit cobbled street to the left of the tavern, keeping his distance still. Even so, from the faint light and the squinted view he could make out splotches of blood against his egg shell white shirt. He assumed a sheltered role in the shadows to the side of a building as he turned his attention back to the tavern. The Albarian man before had stumbled from the tavern, hollering a few inaudible words back to his comrades as he uneasily stepped forward. He came to a stop not too far from the tavern, a faint zip being heard as he leaned his head forward against the tree before him. Drethek gave a cold shiver against the pale night air, his eyes quickly flashing to the darting figure making his emergence to his left.
The Albarian man fell down the ground with a shrill shout that could be heard even over the still loud commotion within the small tavern. Julius' figure laid over the man, his fist ringing down into the man's face with a few loud, sickening thuds. Drethek unsheathed his blade and stepped from the shadows, his eyes on the Albarian dogs that rushed from the tavern.
And so it began.
Sparkled water sprayed against his face as the uneven turf between him shook with every wave, crashing violently against the small hull of the ship he rested upon. He sit with his back against the railing of the sturdy wooden ship, the waves splashing over the side and meeting him with little resistance from his part. It wasn't the ever present stomach ache that normally accompanied him on any sea voyage that stirred him from his sleep, more so the thoughts of the last few months. He had went from being in the position that he had dreamed and worked for since he landed on the isle to being married as he had also wished to accomplish since that date so many years ago.
Addition by subtraction, he would take it either way. It wasn't a quick marriage because he simply wanted to marry someone, there was something different about the woman he finally chose to settle down with. When she walked into a room, when she spoke, and when she wrapped her arms around him in her own soothing embrace, there was something different to the feeling that ate away at him. He had experienced a form of love before, or so he thought, but this..
He slowly balanced himself against the rocking of the ship, pulling himself to his feet as he turned to hug himself against the railing, his eyes peering on off the thrashing waters. Now, that same woman was on the familiar well traveled path as he was back to his old home. Last time he had visited there, he brought with him less than good news. How would his father react to his son getting married to someone without his permission? For some reason, Julius wanted to believe he'd at least accept his decision. For after all, he is his son.
He lifted his hands to wrap the thin tunic around his water dripped form tightly, shivering against the wooden platform as he continued to stare off at the open sea. Though it was clearly evident that a storm was the cause of the massive waves and the uneasy journey thus far, one wouldn't be able to decipher that as such by simply looking towards the heavens. A faint trace of ghost like clouds rested high above, other that, Julius wondered to himself if he had ever seen such a bright pair of moons before as if two eyes were staring back at him.
Slowly he turned his head aside to glance over the empty area beside him, his eyes closing as he let out a loud sigh against the thunderous crashing beneath him. He wanted her there, to be with him. He had noticed that strange need months before as he stood in front of the gates of the keep, his hand idly clutching his key as he slipped it in, thinking to himself what an idiot he had been for not speaking to her that night. As he drudged his way down the stair case and plumped into the far bed, his tired eyes asked for sleep, but none was given. He couldn't sleep without her there as well, not simply for the sexual practice that came with it, but simply because being around the woman made him feel something he believed he had never felt before. And for the first time in his life, it seemed that it was impossible to actually tell her that.
He spent many of nights the same until he had finally summoned the courage to break the shell and start being serious around her. As he stared off across the sea, the glistened pair of eyes watching over him, he was uncertain of what the future held for him, and what his father's verdict was on the marriage, but this much was certain: He loved her.
Addition by subtraction, he would take it either way. It wasn't a quick marriage because he simply wanted to marry someone, there was something different about the woman he finally chose to settle down with. When she walked into a room, when she spoke, and when she wrapped her arms around him in her own soothing embrace, there was something different to the feeling that ate away at him. He had experienced a form of love before, or so he thought, but this..
He slowly balanced himself against the rocking of the ship, pulling himself to his feet as he turned to hug himself against the railing, his eyes peering on off the thrashing waters. Now, that same woman was on the familiar well traveled path as he was back to his old home. Last time he had visited there, he brought with him less than good news. How would his father react to his son getting married to someone without his permission? For some reason, Julius wanted to believe he'd at least accept his decision. For after all, he is his son.
He lifted his hands to wrap the thin tunic around his water dripped form tightly, shivering against the wooden platform as he continued to stare off at the open sea. Though it was clearly evident that a storm was the cause of the massive waves and the uneasy journey thus far, one wouldn't be able to decipher that as such by simply looking towards the heavens. A faint trace of ghost like clouds rested high above, other that, Julius wondered to himself if he had ever seen such a bright pair of moons before as if two eyes were staring back at him.
Slowly he turned his head aside to glance over the empty area beside him, his eyes closing as he let out a loud sigh against the thunderous crashing beneath him. He wanted her there, to be with him. He had noticed that strange need months before as he stood in front of the gates of the keep, his hand idly clutching his key as he slipped it in, thinking to himself what an idiot he had been for not speaking to her that night. As he drudged his way down the stair case and plumped into the far bed, his tired eyes asked for sleep, but none was given. He couldn't sleep without her there as well, not simply for the sexual practice that came with it, but simply because being around the woman made him feel something he believed he had never felt before. And for the first time in his life, it seemed that it was impossible to actually tell her that.
He spent many of nights the same until he had finally summoned the courage to break the shell and start being serious around her. As he stared off across the sea, the glistened pair of eyes watching over him, he was uncertain of what the future held for him, and what his father's verdict was on the marriage, but this much was certain: He loved her.
She wasn't sure if it was the rocking of the ship or the movement of the bed as he rose, but she was awake. She turned onto her side and slid a hand to the other side of the bed, a soft sigh slipping past her lips as she felt traces of his warmth still lingering on the sheets. Strange how she was already so used to his presence, the feel of his body against hers as she slept safe in his arms. The past weeks had been a whirlwind, they had flown by faster than she had thought possible. She was again married..and if she was truely honest to herself..scared to death. Her first marriage hardly deserved the name, though she wouldn't take it back for she'd been blessed with a perfect child, the center of her world. And now Julius...the innocent flirting had turned into a love she treasured dearly.
She had thrown back the blankets then, slipping her arms into her fur lined robe, the silky smoothness of the panther fur soft against her bare skin. Her feet made barely a sound as she stepped over to the tiny, round window, cinching the robe loosely around her small frame, her dark green eyes lifting to the bright double moons hung high over head. Fayne had no idea of what was to come..how Julius' father would react to their news..if he would accept her at all. A faint tremble ran through her body as her head turned to look back at the bed, a pensive expression on her pretty face. She was nervous and hated the feeling. A slender hand lifted to push her waist length hair back over her shoulders, the dark locks touseled from sleep. She wanted to be accepted, but gods be damned if that man tried to push her around. The woman raised her hand to the window then, a soft whisper on her lips as ice covered her fingertip and she drew absent patterns on the glass. She would be as sweet as can be, so long as he was civil.
However this man met her, her family was the most important thing to her. The image of Julius holding her son so gently had flashed through her mind, sending a jolt straight through her heart. There was no better sight than that. Another soft whisper slipped past her lips and the ice had covered the entire windowpane, her magic always calmed her nerves. Surely this man would accept the woman who loves his son, and if not..then she would make do.
A quick flick of her hand and the ice vanished, the woman turning to pad quietly to the door. It opened with a shrill creak, bring a subtle wince to Fayne's face as she slipped out, shivering and pulling the fur robe tighter around her body. The wind pushed at her as she made her way towards the tall man standing at the side of the ship, causing her hair to blow wildly around her face and her robe to billow against her bare calves. She paused before reaching him and her lips had curled into the soft smile reserved for him as her eyes traveled over the familiar form. A few steps more and she had been at his side, one hand gripping the railing as the other landed gently to rest on his back. She stood silently a moment, her gaze following his out over the sea before she spoke, her hand trailing idly over his back, "Couldn't sleep, love?"
She had thrown back the blankets then, slipping her arms into her fur lined robe, the silky smoothness of the panther fur soft against her bare skin. Her feet made barely a sound as she stepped over to the tiny, round window, cinching the robe loosely around her small frame, her dark green eyes lifting to the bright double moons hung high over head. Fayne had no idea of what was to come..how Julius' father would react to their news..if he would accept her at all. A faint tremble ran through her body as her head turned to look back at the bed, a pensive expression on her pretty face. She was nervous and hated the feeling. A slender hand lifted to push her waist length hair back over her shoulders, the dark locks touseled from sleep. She wanted to be accepted, but gods be damned if that man tried to push her around. The woman raised her hand to the window then, a soft whisper on her lips as ice covered her fingertip and she drew absent patterns on the glass. She would be as sweet as can be, so long as he was civil.
However this man met her, her family was the most important thing to her. The image of Julius holding her son so gently had flashed through her mind, sending a jolt straight through her heart. There was no better sight than that. Another soft whisper slipped past her lips and the ice had covered the entire windowpane, her magic always calmed her nerves. Surely this man would accept the woman who loves his son, and if not..then she would make do.
A quick flick of her hand and the ice vanished, the woman turning to pad quietly to the door. It opened with a shrill creak, bring a subtle wince to Fayne's face as she slipped out, shivering and pulling the fur robe tighter around her body. The wind pushed at her as she made her way towards the tall man standing at the side of the ship, causing her hair to blow wildly around her face and her robe to billow against her bare calves. She paused before reaching him and her lips had curled into the soft smile reserved for him as her eyes traveled over the familiar form. A few steps more and she had been at his side, one hand gripping the railing as the other landed gently to rest on his back. She stood silently a moment, her gaze following his out over the sea before she spoke, her hand trailing idly over his back, "Couldn't sleep, love?"