Post by Lord General Maahes Asad-Aziem on Mar 1, 2009 9:05:17 GMT -6
It was late, and though her bedmate found sleep easily, Rosalind was restless. She wished, more than anything, to ease the terrifying scope of her nightmares by watching the innocent sleep of her son, but that was not a luxury she could enjoy while the men of Lamont were present. Instead, she shrugged on a fresh tabard over her gown, wrapped herself in a heavy shawl, and quietly made her way out of her rooms and for the sanctuary of anywhere else. She found a little-used wing and a wide window, took a seat on the ledge, and surveyed the moonlit landscape below, and the hills beyond. She was not as tragic as some saw her; she was never the victim, out of choice. But she was very much alone most of the time, involved in her own world of precision and detail. And worry, though these signs were few, and rarely expressed. After a while, she grew bored with the window and took off again, unconsciously searching the shadows for guards or Lamont men, those who might betray her midnight wanderings.
Out against the black of night the new moon faded with the break of light, a cat's grin--one he knew well. The sliver of silver a cradle for the darkside of the moon, as tonight it was tradition. While a city slept, a country was at war there was still fires burning at the midnight hour, deep in the woods their songs rose up in merriment and joy. Superstition ran wild into the night as the smoke of the fires could be seen in the distant horizon. A mystery that many dare not venture to find as story told not a soul returned. The air was still cold, but the fires would glow the sun deep in the woods, or so the eye was told.
Down the hall a Beast stepped as every night before his heart was swept out into the sea. Careful gentle steps wove over the stone floors as a week old babe found trouble in the night, and dare not close his eyes. Ra was pressed to his shoulder as a massive hand pat the baby's back gently, the blanket in which he was wrapped ran like a waterfall over his back and shared the color of the deepest part of the ocean; no doubt an imported treasure from distant lands. Passing the wing that held the Lady he would pause within the just a ways back, and in a gentle rumble that left his voice like distant thunder he broke the silence, "Sleep does not find many easy.." He felt he should remain quiet, but frankly...he needed to speak to another human.
"No, it does not, but it makes us appreciate it for when it will once again," she responded, not turning immediately. She recognized the voice. It took a particular sort of hope to speak to a stranger in the darkness, and after all that, she wouldn't count him as a stranger for having reached out. She eventually turned, the moonlight illuminating the cap she wore to protect her hair as she slept. It was too much work to plait her hair again. "General," she added, turning at last, letting her eyes rest on the large man, and the impossibly small child in his arms. He reminded her of another sight, and for a moment, ghosts of memory wrapped around her vision, to be dismissed promptly with a deliberate blink of her eyes. "If only thoughts could be silenced like words. It is thinking that troubles me, and all the myriad 'what ifs' of the day. I know it is foolish to dwell on them, but nevertheless, here I am. Dwelling." There was amusement in her voice, and the slight rush of words of one glad to have someone to talk to, anyone that might give her a response that was not a mere grunt.
This castle he had known well, as when he first moved into the lands of Skye and took on the roll a great man had left for him he spent many nights wondering. He suffered in the castle his room not as it was in Avaria, everything was so very closed here in the tomb that became a castle, but more and more it became a home. He longed to be back in the valley, looking out over the fleece downs upon his porch at Red Wall. However, he knew he could not return and still hang on to the game he played to himself that Ealora was not dead only sleeping--and he would wait. The nameless child in his arms had been given the nickname of an ancient God, the power of Egypt, and though Maahes was Muslim he had grown to love it. Her words played deeply upon his heartstrings as he understood them well, but with the flesh of his face pressing against the soft touch of his child's temple he inhaled deeply. Such a sweet smell, a newborn fresh from his bath. "You speak with a heavy heart." Easing his body down into the ledge as well it cried from the worn beating it had only ever known. "One that has known too much pain," Amber eyes filled with the thousand desert sun's turned to meet her own, "Is there something that can be done to replace it?" A honest question, but spoken in his raspy deep almost monotone voice, seemed he cared very little but in fact cared very much. Maahes carried the weight of many; what was one more?
"I hope so," she replied, folding her arms beneath her breast and giving the view out the window one last look. The fires looked inviting, warm, and nearly fantastic. "Pain is common," she added a few moments later. "A man may as soon die from a splinter as an axe through the head. It is a time of war and a time of grief, when I had always thought spring a time of rebirth and joy. To bury others as the sheep are foaling, to remark on the past when new shoots push their way out of the stony ground, it seems contrary to nature. Perhaps it is not grief, but a weariness that sleep cannot cure. No wonder we do not sleep well, General. I would not take my eye off this world, for I no longer trust it." She finally left the window and approached him, the look of the cynic disappearing as she caught a glimpse of the babe's face. It was just the right substitute for the face she was missing, or at least, close enough that it brought out a genuine smile.
"Good speaking." Broken English sometimes sounded so wrong coming from his lips, as his voice was thickly laced with a rich accent unable to mask itself to the world. "You, will not have to sleep with an eye open for much longer, we will make this right." From the shoulder of his son he would raise his face to meet her eyes once again, "You are the wife to a lead inside the clan Lamont yes?" A massive hand touched softly once again the back of the baby as he finally gave in the fight, funny that very same hand could kill without reason or weapon. "He saved my life. Or so I feel had my strength gave out...I have not had time to honor him. His days..Where are they spent?" His eyes would as well drift out into the night watching the smoke rise across the moon, seemed the gypsies were at it again. "Perhaps when this war is over, he will help me rid this country of fools." Such harsh words to speak of in the presence of Ra.
"His name is Fearghus Lamont, and yes, he is my husband." She could say the words without pausing, a feat accomplished only by practice. It was not required of a wife to love her husband, but it seemed in Skye, it was. She was diplomatic in how she treated the man, far more so than she should have been, lest she surprise anyone by failing to show adequate affection. "I -- I had heard he did such a thing. It is true then? He has been so quiet since the battle. He does not say where he goes, but I suspect it is with the Lamont men, wherever they are quartered. He is more comfortable among them." They were oil and water; she preferred he spend his time as far away from her domain as possible. "He..." she paused, searching for words. "I cannot tell you what he thinks, only what I suspect. I am not certain he wishes to rid the land of fools, merely to make a home for himself. To have some quiet after so many years of fighting. But if you wish, I will tell him you asked about him. He will be pleased to know."[/color]
"It is not your place as his wife to tell me what he thinks, but if he wishes to make a home here then I will see it done."Maahes was very close minded if that could not be told, a man of tradition who had fallen head over heels in Love with a woman who would have beat him. "You can tell him I asked of him, and let it be known I wish to speak to him." Then return to your wife duties..or so it seemed he should have said.
He will return to Lamont lands. I do not see him staying long in Skye." She had no intentions to go with him. She never wished to see Inveryne again, even if she remained alive long enough to have the option. "I will see it done." Rosalind never had any strange ideas about rebellion or picking up swords, arguing with her husband or doing anything beyond the role of her gender. Fate had seen to it that she had, but she was in good company among the ladies of Skye. "How is your son?" she asked instead, turning the conversation from the unpleasant to the charming.
Rosalind was a master at her trade playing a man like a deck of cards, Maahes was quick to shift his mind upon the baby against him, "He is well, healthy stays up all hours of the night, but it is the only time we can be together." Rising then he longed to be in the bedding with his child, a broken body well worn and hurting all over. "I have spoiled him I fear, I cannot stand for him to be out of my arms." He had no clue how that would sound to her, how badly that would hurt her. No one it seemed knew of her child, a hidden pain that she wore up well in her wimple. However, deep in the darkened woods the fires burned well into the night, and a king sat upon his throne of fallen tree limbs. Shadows danced around him with raise voices in song, and drumbeats falling in time with their steps. Peregrine could not find the spirit to dance tonight, brooding in anger as he felt her pain, and his twisted mind rounded well with the plot to ease her out. (d
Out against the black of night the new moon faded with the break of light, a cat's grin--one he knew well. The sliver of silver a cradle for the darkside of the moon, as tonight it was tradition. While a city slept, a country was at war there was still fires burning at the midnight hour, deep in the woods their songs rose up in merriment and joy. Superstition ran wild into the night as the smoke of the fires could be seen in the distant horizon. A mystery that many dare not venture to find as story told not a soul returned. The air was still cold, but the fires would glow the sun deep in the woods, or so the eye was told.
Down the hall a Beast stepped as every night before his heart was swept out into the sea. Careful gentle steps wove over the stone floors as a week old babe found trouble in the night, and dare not close his eyes. Ra was pressed to his shoulder as a massive hand pat the baby's back gently, the blanket in which he was wrapped ran like a waterfall over his back and shared the color of the deepest part of the ocean; no doubt an imported treasure from distant lands. Passing the wing that held the Lady he would pause within the just a ways back, and in a gentle rumble that left his voice like distant thunder he broke the silence, "Sleep does not find many easy.." He felt he should remain quiet, but frankly...he needed to speak to another human.
"No, it does not, but it makes us appreciate it for when it will once again," she responded, not turning immediately. She recognized the voice. It took a particular sort of hope to speak to a stranger in the darkness, and after all that, she wouldn't count him as a stranger for having reached out. She eventually turned, the moonlight illuminating the cap she wore to protect her hair as she slept. It was too much work to plait her hair again. "General," she added, turning at last, letting her eyes rest on the large man, and the impossibly small child in his arms. He reminded her of another sight, and for a moment, ghosts of memory wrapped around her vision, to be dismissed promptly with a deliberate blink of her eyes. "If only thoughts could be silenced like words. It is thinking that troubles me, and all the myriad 'what ifs' of the day. I know it is foolish to dwell on them, but nevertheless, here I am. Dwelling." There was amusement in her voice, and the slight rush of words of one glad to have someone to talk to, anyone that might give her a response that was not a mere grunt.
This castle he had known well, as when he first moved into the lands of Skye and took on the roll a great man had left for him he spent many nights wondering. He suffered in the castle his room not as it was in Avaria, everything was so very closed here in the tomb that became a castle, but more and more it became a home. He longed to be back in the valley, looking out over the fleece downs upon his porch at Red Wall. However, he knew he could not return and still hang on to the game he played to himself that Ealora was not dead only sleeping--and he would wait. The nameless child in his arms had been given the nickname of an ancient God, the power of Egypt, and though Maahes was Muslim he had grown to love it. Her words played deeply upon his heartstrings as he understood them well, but with the flesh of his face pressing against the soft touch of his child's temple he inhaled deeply. Such a sweet smell, a newborn fresh from his bath. "You speak with a heavy heart." Easing his body down into the ledge as well it cried from the worn beating it had only ever known. "One that has known too much pain," Amber eyes filled with the thousand desert sun's turned to meet her own, "Is there something that can be done to replace it?" A honest question, but spoken in his raspy deep almost monotone voice, seemed he cared very little but in fact cared very much. Maahes carried the weight of many; what was one more?
"I hope so," she replied, folding her arms beneath her breast and giving the view out the window one last look. The fires looked inviting, warm, and nearly fantastic. "Pain is common," she added a few moments later. "A man may as soon die from a splinter as an axe through the head. It is a time of war and a time of grief, when I had always thought spring a time of rebirth and joy. To bury others as the sheep are foaling, to remark on the past when new shoots push their way out of the stony ground, it seems contrary to nature. Perhaps it is not grief, but a weariness that sleep cannot cure. No wonder we do not sleep well, General. I would not take my eye off this world, for I no longer trust it." She finally left the window and approached him, the look of the cynic disappearing as she caught a glimpse of the babe's face. It was just the right substitute for the face she was missing, or at least, close enough that it brought out a genuine smile.
"Good speaking." Broken English sometimes sounded so wrong coming from his lips, as his voice was thickly laced with a rich accent unable to mask itself to the world. "You, will not have to sleep with an eye open for much longer, we will make this right." From the shoulder of his son he would raise his face to meet her eyes once again, "You are the wife to a lead inside the clan Lamont yes?" A massive hand touched softly once again the back of the baby as he finally gave in the fight, funny that very same hand could kill without reason or weapon. "He saved my life. Or so I feel had my strength gave out...I have not had time to honor him. His days..Where are they spent?" His eyes would as well drift out into the night watching the smoke rise across the moon, seemed the gypsies were at it again. "Perhaps when this war is over, he will help me rid this country of fools." Such harsh words to speak of in the presence of Ra.
"His name is Fearghus Lamont, and yes, he is my husband." She could say the words without pausing, a feat accomplished only by practice. It was not required of a wife to love her husband, but it seemed in Skye, it was. She was diplomatic in how she treated the man, far more so than she should have been, lest she surprise anyone by failing to show adequate affection. "I -- I had heard he did such a thing. It is true then? He has been so quiet since the battle. He does not say where he goes, but I suspect it is with the Lamont men, wherever they are quartered. He is more comfortable among them." They were oil and water; she preferred he spend his time as far away from her domain as possible. "He..." she paused, searching for words. "I cannot tell you what he thinks, only what I suspect. I am not certain he wishes to rid the land of fools, merely to make a home for himself. To have some quiet after so many years of fighting. But if you wish, I will tell him you asked about him. He will be pleased to know."[/color]
"It is not your place as his wife to tell me what he thinks, but if he wishes to make a home here then I will see it done."Maahes was very close minded if that could not be told, a man of tradition who had fallen head over heels in Love with a woman who would have beat him. "You can tell him I asked of him, and let it be known I wish to speak to him." Then return to your wife duties..or so it seemed he should have said.
He will return to Lamont lands. I do not see him staying long in Skye." She had no intentions to go with him. She never wished to see Inveryne again, even if she remained alive long enough to have the option. "I will see it done." Rosalind never had any strange ideas about rebellion or picking up swords, arguing with her husband or doing anything beyond the role of her gender. Fate had seen to it that she had, but she was in good company among the ladies of Skye. "How is your son?" she asked instead, turning the conversation from the unpleasant to the charming.
Rosalind was a master at her trade playing a man like a deck of cards, Maahes was quick to shift his mind upon the baby against him, "He is well, healthy stays up all hours of the night, but it is the only time we can be together." Rising then he longed to be in the bedding with his child, a broken body well worn and hurting all over. "I have spoiled him I fear, I cannot stand for him to be out of my arms." He had no clue how that would sound to her, how badly that would hurt her. No one it seemed knew of her child, a hidden pain that she wore up well in her wimple. However, deep in the darkened woods the fires burned well into the night, and a king sat upon his throne of fallen tree limbs. Shadows danced around him with raise voices in song, and drumbeats falling in time with their steps. Peregrine could not find the spirit to dance tonight, brooding in anger as he felt her pain, and his twisted mind rounded well with the plot to ease her out. (d