Post by ladyfrancesca on Nov 2, 2008 11:00:00 GMT -6
Teardrops... crystalline water ebbed slowly from the eyes of turbulent innocence, the pain of loss, the suffering emotion... The heart cleaved in two as the elderly woman within her arms slowly drew her last breath. "Please... please don't leave me... I don't want to be alone!" The woman clutched within ethereal arms, held tightly, clutched till knuckles turned white with strain. The words slipping betwixt pouted ruby tiers before simply dying off in a soft sobbing.
Thunder... it rolled across the darkened sky, resounding off the mountaintops before plummeting in waves against the young woman that stood alone at the foot of churned soil. A delicate hand, as if alabaster, reached out and laid a single rose upon the soil at her feet. This... was goodbye... forever. A simple wooden cross was all that was afforded but the memory of the elderly woman who'd past would live within the youthful heart always.
Sunlight... The sun's brilliant presence illuminated the dawn and with it, the young woman's heart. It was a new day and with it came the winds of change. The parchment within gloved fingertips was opened once more and read intently. She knew her path, knew what she had to do and with a single lasting look upon the small country abode that was her home since birth... Francesca would smile through silvery tears. It was all she knew, all she'd had.
"It's time sweet one..." The soft words uttered upon the maturing gray mare's dull coat. "It's just you and me now... but I'm glad that I have you..." A sweet kiss was placed upon the horses' flaring nose as an ear was flicked in return. Francesca mounted and with the reigns held gently amongst leather clad fingertips a soft nudge of heel was given and off the two went... into the unknown, into the rest of their lives... into the future with fear yet renewed hope that salvation would come.
The Name... The parchment had been found after the Elder's death, the name upon it etched within Francesca's mind... she would find the name and the man that bore it and in time... perhaps she would know him and why 'he' needed to be sought out. "Come Lilia..." Her hand brushed along the silken mane of the small gray mare gently. "We have to get going... Inverness is a long way..." And so... the two left behind what they knew in search of their tomorrow.
The Grampian Mountains... Majestic within the backdrop of clouded skies and soft muses of mist that seemed to linger in effortless grace about them. They sparked the end of her journey and the beginning anew. Beyond lay Inverness Scotland and answers to questions that had been plaguing her mind for some days as she traveled. Francesca's journey had been long, tiring but without incident. God had watched over his child with great care, His angels guiding her path, His love keeping her strong and her faith in Him pushing her ever forward.
Dismounting... she would find a bit of food within her pack, nothing much really, just a simple grain bread she'd gotten along her way. The winter had yet to come fully, small tuffs of greenery were still seen here and there with which the gray mare, Lilia, did enjoy. Francesca soon swept her heavy wool cloak about her, the hood rose over her head to shield her from the strong breeze that now churned across her path. The line of trees to the North wasn't far, she thought of staying secluded within them for the evening but it was cold. Lilia shifted to the left, then the right before her head popped up from the soft grasses she'd been eating and remained very still. Her ears flicked and turned as if trying to bring into range... sounds. It was then Francesca turned and looking behind whence she came, three dark riders approached. Their figures, their features and their intent unknown. She'd seen virtually no one upon her journey until now.
The Riders... Dark cloaks snapped within the wind behind them as they pushed onward toward the small woman and her old gray mare, the closer they came the faster they rode. The clatter of hoof and stride of sinewed flesh pushed by an internal rage and desire drew them ever closer.
Shouts could be heard yet not made out and soon Francesca felt a cold chill run up along her delicate spine. "I think it's time we go Lilia..." said in quiet fear. Mounting quickly, she gave a last look behind her, the Dark riders gaining ground upon her.
With a snap of reign and blunt nudge of heels the gray mare took off in a lurching gallop yet her speed and age was no match for the seasoned riders and their heavy mounts drawing ever closer.
"HALT!" One of the men bellowed. "I SAY AGAIN! HALT!" Again his deep voice boomed across the ever closing distance between the young woman and the Dark Riders.
Francesca held tight to the reigns, leaning forward as the wind began to whip about her. The hood of her cloak snatched from her head, her dark curls spilling in tumbles from it's updo till they snapped in whip like fashion behind her. Tears began to form and dribble from her eyes across alabaster cheeks that were now becoming tinged pink from the cold wind kissing against them. "Courez la course de Lilia !" (Run Lilia run!) She pushed the small mare hard, harder than she could move and soon the mature mount began to lag... drawing those in pursuit ever closer. "Aide! Aidez-moi !" (Help! Help me!)
Crossbow... The heavy bolt of surging steel soon struck its target. Lilia faltered, the sharp whiney breaking voice into the air as puffs of white came from her nostrils, her hot breath meeting the cold air she was heaving in deep within her lungs. Blood began to tinge the dull gray coat of the small mare.
"Non! Lilia! Non!" (No! Lilia! No!) Francesca's voice cried out in horror knowing that Lilia was in great pain. "Laissez-nous seuls !" (Leave us alone!) spouted between plump tears now quivering in utter fear toward those now within earshot.
The Bolt... Yet another bolt pierced the flesh of the small mare yet this time in her shoulder crippling her stride. Suddenly she fell! The horse going down and the young woman atop her going down with her. Lilia's head reared up, her legs thrashing as she tried to right herself to her feet to no avail. Francesca laid upon the ground... lifeless, her hair in a chaotic mass across her face.
The Dark Riders... They slowed when they saw their quarry detained. Riding up, two paused as one proceeded forward. "We've got her now..." spoken with a grin as he dismounted. Booted feet carried him toward the young woman and the old gray mare she'd been riding. He settled about the horses’ head, his hands gripping the back of her head and her nose before a quick jerk was given... and Lilia... was no more. Her neck was snapped like a twig. It was then he eyed Francesca, his tongue gathered over his lips in a soft lick. "We've been tracking you for days..." Said in quite muse to the unconscious young woman. "Finally..." said to the other riders before he began to remove his gloves in preparation to enjoy the fruits of their labor.
The Winter Season… The air was crisp with hints of cool wind as it blew against the summer thistle making the spiked hedge wave back and forth as if it was stuck in a storm. The grass held its color while the trees had hints of gold and maroon against its leaves. The clouds pulled together allowing only short rays of sun to permeate the ground.
The meadows underneath the Grampian Mountains were a favorite place to rest. It wasn't too cold and it wasn't too hot. The temperature for Autumn was what poets spoke of in their sonnets.
The blowing wind didn't permeate the dented armor on his shoulders. Nor did it bring comfort to the half Norse, half Scotsmen under the armored helmet. His eyes closed and leaned backward against a great oak allowing himself to slide down until he found the cold ground. It wasn't so far away. Not too long now.
Had it been hours? Or had it been minutes when the subtle smell of sweetness brushed his nose? It wasn't the type of sweet that came from fruit. It was the type a woman would wear for appeal. Many crossed this path to get to the other side of the mountain. A traveling woman with her entourage wouldn't be a surprise.
Slumping over, the sword having fallen out of worn fingers, the withered soul was attempting sleep. His head lulled over to the right due to the weight on his head. The backs of his palms drooped against the dirt. His gauntleted leg sprawled straight as the other one fell to the side. The picture looked as if he was a drunkard. It was the picture of exhaustion.
The soft minute tremors against his knuckles made his head bob to the right. It was travelers. The Scotsmen drifted again until he heard the sound of a woman screaming? Was it too cliché that he would be here? The hoofs were harder. Running. Nae, charging.
'Halt?' Says who? The exhaustion faded and was being replaced with adrenaline. The steel sword was grabbed by the hilt and the sleeping warrior found his footing quickly. His horse was looking attentively in the direction of the high pitched female voice as if pointing to the danger.
"C'mon," he said darkly, pulling himself on the saddle in two swift motions. The squeeze of the mount between his legs had the equine jumping off with a start. The sword was pulled from the holster and he'd ask questions later.
The high screams in French verses the low calls in common did not make for a good picture at all. The pursuit was easy to follow when the foe rode hard and fast. The glint of crossbow firing was all he needed to see.
Even if they were knights, shooting down a defenseless horse (not disabling) made anger burn in his soul. There was no respect for life and safer ways to capture someone. They were not Scottish knights… They knew better. These did not.
second shot took the horse down and the women went too, right into the dirt. Anger covered him in the two huffs of air he took in. The switch from sane to feral happened in an instant. The rage of war turned him compassionless.
'They had her…?' He had them. Pushing the stud Mercury forward, the sword that was bequeathed on the day of knighting was drawn behind him and pressing the horse faster, came by the speaking horseman and the blade, shimmering in the Fall sunlight, caught the exact precision where man and helmet separated. In that strike, the speaking one was decapitated. The cloaked head flew spinning through the air landing with a thud.
Mercury didn't stop and he wasn't stopping him. The Scotsmen flew like lightening toward the woman. The sky eyes narrowed lowering his arm. With a yanking jerk, he snapped the damsel from her downed horse. Tossing her across the front of him for her own protection… Namely crossbows, he speared through the trees as if he was riding a clear path.
Crouching, he could hear the heartbeat of the woman in front of him… He hoped to God he picked the right side to defend. He wasn't prone to attacking first without provocation. It was the horse, and woman he'd avenge. Not their personal purpose.
The Head... it dropped like a stone as the steel blade sliced through bone and sinew as if it were mere water. Spatters of crimson spurted into the air as the remaining body jerked, trembled and then slowly fell to the ground as if a tree had been cut down. The head rolled in bumpy movements till it ended up at the feet of the two remaining Dark Riders.
Their faces? Wide eyed mouths agape at what had transpired in the blink of their cold, black eyes. "YOU THERE!" The deep baritone voice charged the air in electric anger. "COME BACK HERE!"
The two Dark Riders were off in blatant chase after the Knight and their quarry. Their pursuit slowed as the treeline was entered and attempted to keep up with the horseman with "their" woman.
"YOUR IN HERE! I CAN SMELL YOU BOY!" The gruff voice sliced through the air calling out to the Knight who'd taken the life of their Commander. Their horses steadied allowing silence to fall upon the wooded surroundings... they waited... listened.
After a few moments... "BRING HER HERE AND WE'LL LET YOU KEEP YOUR LIFE..." The dark eyes searched while ears listened.
The Sweetness... The aroma of roses as if dipped within pure honey filled the air in soft ambiance as the Knight would lean over the one he protected. Her heartbeat however quick, was steady. The young woman was not dead. Upon his lap did she lay, her form small and light and her dark hair the color of deepest chocolate that hung in messy curls hiding her features. A soft whimper pushed past lips of pink before she began to stir, if she screamed their position would be given away.
The other riders stopped at the edge of the treeline with good judgment. He too slowed the horse to a stop. Touching her back, he spoke the only words she needed to hear and that was, "Shhhh." Dismounting, and dropping down quietly to his feet, he grabbed the potato sack hanging from the side of his saddle.
Easing closer, squatting, less then ten yards, the knight reached into the sack carefully. His breathing easy, slow, careful, the slithering green animal tried to coil around his wrist. Unwrapping the beast, he eyed one of the riders and without a care, tossed the garden snack toward the unknown rider.
With any luck, the snake would bite and he'd think himself to die within minutes. Or it would miss and the horse would buck and kick its owner… Anything worth a distraction would work. He only needed those precious seconds to react.
Sounds... The woods surrounding them were deathly quiet. Nothing seemed to stir around them. They waited, watched and listened.
Hushed... "I don't hear anything. Maybe they kept going and are now out of earshot?"
The other in reply... "Couldn't be... they are in there..." said blatantly. "I know they..." Couldn't have gone far? His words cut off instantly as the green, ribbon like creature came whirling in snapping fury toward him... toward his face.
"ARRRRRRRRRRGH!!" His hands snapped to his face allowing his reigns to fall freely. He squirmed atop his mount so vigorously that the horse felt nudged as if he were ready to ride.
The horse took off like a bat out of hell, the rider, snake in hand, in mouth and wrapped about his head was thrashing to remove the beast from his flesh. The horse continued to gallop at fast pace, he missed the tree limb, the rider however, did not.
The Rider, snake and all, took a header backwards, tumbling off the ass end of the horse that continued on without his rider. There was a popping sound, a squeal and then silence. The Rider's neck had been broken with his fall.
The lone Dark Rider spun his mount about and quickly took off in the opposite direction cutting a rough path across the valley floor from whence he came. The peril was over... for the moment.
The Touch... The young women felt it, the gentle brush of fingertips. The hushing sound seemed far off in the distance as if she were asleep and dreaming. Her little gloved fingers slowly coiled into a fist as her head bobbed gently yet never rose. She seemed to be coming round... slowly. It had been a hard fall.
If he was presented with a gift from the Gods, it was those precious seconds the unknown rider struggled with the 'gift' he found on his travels. His lips pursed tight trying to hold in blatant laughter. This was one of the humors of life… Except when he saw him fall back and broke his neck.
He winced. It wasn't fair. Nothing was created equal including accidents. The fingerless leather gloved hand clutched the dagger at his side. The last was always the hardest to kill. This was when skill, training, and experience tied itself together.
Humor gone, the Scotsmen trailed closer to the rider who was watching his companion on the ground lifeless. Crouched over, he stalked toward the final rider, ready to attack to the death.
To his dismay, the last one turned on his steed and rode away. He wanted to throw the dagger at the horse. Couldn't do it. The horse's life was spared and so was its owner. The spot where the lifeless body lay was a second horse a few feet from him.
Creeping toward the animal, he held his palms up and open. "C'mon boy," getting closer then starting to hum a soft tune. "Cooooome on… boy," getting closer. The horse stirred but he didn't run. The reins were clutched and he walked the horse back to the woman. He looked about to see if the lady was still intact, in place.
The Dark Riders... They had been three yet now only one remained. His word would travel to those inclined to an audience with the woman they'd been commissioned to apprehend. Only time would tell if they would show again... in greater number.
The Unmounted... The horse was a sleek black; heavy boned and as the Knight approached, would bob his lengthy head up and down, his front leg arching at the joints before striking his hoof to the ground. He was wary. It was seen the great animal cut his eyes to the side, left and then right. His nostrils flared as he drew the Knight's scent inside himself, his tail swishing briskly. It was the song, the soft hum that drew him close, his ears shifting to tune in the Knight's greeting. The reins seized he jerked his head abruptly yet followed after some coaxing from the Knight whom now seemed to be his Master.
Pain... The small young woman stirred atop the mount she'd been left upon. She felt sore all over especially her right cheek; it had met the grass as she plummeted to the ground landing face first. Her brows furrowed over closed eyes as she coughed slightly and tried to wrap her mind about what had just happened. She was disoriented. Her slippered feet were very small as they and the pale colored stockings she wore were seen beneath the heavy black wools wrapped about her now shifting beneath her squirming. Soft tone... "Lilia?" The heavy French accent flavored the name she called. "Lilia??" Her voice was rough but even so, sweet as bee pollen on a summer wind.
Eventually time was needed to learn of the new acquired horse with its personality and capability. An early start to such an endeavor was impossible. He had a 'guest' to check on.
He let the reins of the new horse go and went around the side of his steed. She was calling someone that was not with them. The voice that hadn't been used with another human sounded gruff. "There is no Lilia," not knowing if she meant a companion or her fallen horse. "Only you," coming about the side to look at her.
She was still on her stomach. Gently grabbing her ankle, he pushed her side over so she can straddle the horse. By her tone, she was still disoriented. "Speak the locale you travel so that may help you reach your destination," the words coming heavily.
She needed to be amongst those she knew. Not traveling the land without a guard or company.
Beauty... It came in many forms. A song, a sonnet, the sky, love, joy and even times pain was beautiful... Example... childbirth. But this, this beauty was of the flesh.
As he shoved her up and onto the horse in a straddle the young woman would look down upon her savior through a mass of dark curls and as she pushed them agitatedly from her view, the warmth of heavenly sienna eyes would regard him. She searched his features and it was evident by the furrow of brow and glistening tears filling her eyes that she... did not know him.
She swept her eyes from the Knight and around till through the trees she saw Lilia, the gray mare, laying still upon the ground. "LILIA!" The young woman paid no heed to the questions given her, nor to the Knight whom saved her but scrambled down from the mount and ran without care out into the clearing and toward her only companion, her only friend.
The voice was reminiscent of the Knight's past as was the gaze that pleasured him only for a moment till she ran off.
The lady was seated, righted on the horse. And as God was his witness, he saw the beauty of his Queen… Queen Serena Lot, wife of his childhood brother at arms. It had been almost a year since he saw her last. She was with child. By now, watching her fling herself toward the horse, she'd have delivered the babe.
He bowed to one knee as she passed. Several thoughts ran through his mind; Why didn't she know me? The first ride into Inverness, he was her sworn protector. Why did she not have a small army as guard? Where was the child she delivered? Where was Agra? Why wasn't he here? Why was she here? If she wasn't in Inverness then where was she going? Why wasn't she returning in the direction of home?
Raising off his knee, he followed with both mounts at his shoulder. Kneeling beside her, he dared to look into her face again from the fallen horse. "My Queen," softer, "Serena. We have to get you to safety." He looked at the horse not recognizing it as hers. "The horse is dead. And we must go. My Queen, I can not keep you from harm if we remain in the same place." He should have killed the last rider. Compassion often bites one on the ass, which it was doing. "We must go," offering his hand. He didn't want to turn into his brute of a brother and carry her away. He wanted her to come with him of her own free will. "Please, my Queen."
Tears... like liquid diamonds; they slowly rolled down her cheeks before coming to rest in soft kiss against the gray mare's face. Her delicate arms flung about the dead animal as she sobbed in quiet pain. "Lilia... Ma Lilia douce et belle..." (My sweet beautiful Lilia.) Her fingers were jerked free of the leather that bound them as her left hand caressed the snout while uttering in sweet sorrow...
"Veuillez ne pas me laisser, votre tout que j'ai laissé." (Please do not leave me, your all I have left.) But her plea would never be heard, Francesca's horse was gone. She felt the Knight kneel beside her, his presence, his feeling of closeness drew her from her sorrow and as he spoke she sat up, her fingertips kneading the horses’ mane within her 'unadorned' left hand. She wiped her tears away and curiously looked over the Knight, his features, his build and the manner in which he knelt beside her.
Between soft whimpers as her tears slowed she inquired. "Qui… Qui êtes-vous ?" (Who... who are you?) And upon hearing the name Serena she shook her head at him, her dark curls spilling about her shoulders. "Francesca..." Her name highlighted in heavy French flair. "Mon nom est Francesca..." As he reached for her, offering his hand she refused to take it.
Listening carefully, he watched her mourn a horse he did not know. Perhaps his brother purchased this steed for her while he was absent. Either still, would she have such a bond with the animal in such a short amount of time? Why would she feel the horse is all she had left when she had a husband and child at home?
Seeing her hand, remembering the day her husband proposed and the ring he proposed with, it wasn't on her hand. Did she drop it? He'd have to scout about to find it. He couldn't return her home without her ring. The King would kill him.
His language was rusty at best. The Scotsmen was fairly knowledgeable in the basics. She asked him his name. Didn't she know? "Alazerus, My Queen. Your sworn protector." The eyes looked at him blankly with no recollection. "Do you not remember?" And why was she speaking French? The pieces were not coming together as well as he'd like them to.
"Who is Francesca? That can not be you. Your name is Serena Lot, Queen Lot to be specific," staring, confused and about to get to the bottom of this. "Why are you using this name? I am your knight."
Language... it could be a beautiful thing when spoken between two people yet a curse when neither knew what the other was saying and this seemed to be the case. Francesca has a smattering of common tongue... a smattering and that was all.
As he began to speak to her she turned away from him? She began rifling through her pack upon Lilia's side. She fumbled with the strings till they became untied and then dipping her hand in and pulling out a parchment, rolled and tied.
Perhaps this fellow could help her get to Inverness?? He'd obviously helped her safely away from those dastardly bandits! Hearing her name she turned and tapped the soft swell of feminine flesh that lay beneath thick black wool.
"Francesca..." She furrowed her brows, her succulent little lips parting, forming, and trying to come up with a bit of common although even then, it was laced thickly with French flair. "I... Francesca..." She uncoiled the parchment, the string tying it cast aside and to the grass.
Her little fingers were smooth, delicate and there were no adornments of any kind on either hand; nor, if he looked on her person. No jewelry at all. Hearing the name Serena once again she shook her head sagely. "Non Serena..." She tilted her head, her brows furrowing over lustrous eyes of warm sienna. "Qui est Serena?" (Who is Serena?) It was then she produced the parchment to him, she scooted close and leaned gently against him whilst pointing to the inkings. "Inver... ness?" Her voice was filled with a need, a beseeching to find what she looked for and whom. "Renard DeToulier?"
She blinked up at him, heavy lashes of dark silk rimming her beautiful eyes like feathers. "Trouvaille d'aide?" (Help find) There was a soft smile given and as she smiled those darling dimples marred the perfection of her cheeks. "p... please?"
Alazerus knew trickery existed on levels above comprehension. He had seen the other side of it in his brother. Did this exist in Serena too? The knight had to wrap his head around the situation. She didn't speak common that well. Her name was Francesca not Serena. She didn't have any guard. The baby wasn't with her nor was her husband. The Queen knew many and it was surprising that she didn't remember him.
'Non Serena.' She was telling him the truth. Could this be possible? This was not Serena? Could this be trickery? Serena wouldn't lie to him like this. "Serena is the Queen of Inverness. Serena est Reine de la Inverness. (Queen)."
"Inverness is our," stopping to rethink it. "Inverness is home." French. "Home. Maison." He looked at her parchment that she presented. He looked at the name. He didn't know Renard. Who is this person? "Yes, I will help..."
The Priests would be disappointed he didn't keep with his language lessons. "Oui," the sounding coming ragged. "Je vous aiderai trouver." (Yes, I will help you find him.) Placing the scroll in her possession, he would seek the bottom of this.
"Francesca," going with what she told him. "Mon?" hoping that's right. "Mon nom est Alazerus. Your protector?" No, that doesn't work. "Uhm.. Je suis votre protecteur." (I am your protector.) "We will go to Inverness." Thinking again, "Traveleur Inverness for Renard DeToulier. Jes?" offering his hand to her again, using the other to point in the direction of Grampian Mountains. "Inverness."
"C'est très passionnant !" (That is very exciting!) regarding Serena and her being a Queen. She tilted her head and with that tilt came a cascade of dark curls tumbling down over her shoulder and of course his.
"Mais pourquoi est-ce vous m'appellent-il Serena? Je ne suis pas elle." (But why is it you call me Serena? I am not her.) Francesca was starting to wonder about this brave Knight. Had he been out in the sun too long? Had he endured some type of head injury where he wasn't thinking or seeing clearly?
Then agreeing to help her. "Merci!!" With that the young little darling threw her arms about the neck of the Knight and kissed both his cheeks in French flair. After which she took the parchment he offered her, in return she gave him the most darling, dazzling, brilliant smile.
As he uttered his own name, Francesca got to her small feet, her stature a mere five foot in height, and dipped low in a very elegant curtsey. "C'est un plaisir de faire votre monsieur Alazerus de connaissance !" (It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Sir Alazerus.) She would take his hand as it was offered.
"Oui! Inver... ness!" It was then she turned to look at her Lilia. A soft sigh was given as she released Alazerus' hand and dipping down, placed a chaste kiss to the horse's cheek one last time. "Au revoir ma belle Lilia… Je t'aime." (Goodbye my beautiful Lilia... I love you.)
It was then not only her journey continued but Alazerus' begun as well.
Thunder... it rolled across the darkened sky, resounding off the mountaintops before plummeting in waves against the young woman that stood alone at the foot of churned soil. A delicate hand, as if alabaster, reached out and laid a single rose upon the soil at her feet. This... was goodbye... forever. A simple wooden cross was all that was afforded but the memory of the elderly woman who'd past would live within the youthful heart always.
Sunlight... The sun's brilliant presence illuminated the dawn and with it, the young woman's heart. It was a new day and with it came the winds of change. The parchment within gloved fingertips was opened once more and read intently. She knew her path, knew what she had to do and with a single lasting look upon the small country abode that was her home since birth... Francesca would smile through silvery tears. It was all she knew, all she'd had.
"It's time sweet one..." The soft words uttered upon the maturing gray mare's dull coat. "It's just you and me now... but I'm glad that I have you..." A sweet kiss was placed upon the horses' flaring nose as an ear was flicked in return. Francesca mounted and with the reigns held gently amongst leather clad fingertips a soft nudge of heel was given and off the two went... into the unknown, into the rest of their lives... into the future with fear yet renewed hope that salvation would come.
The Name... The parchment had been found after the Elder's death, the name upon it etched within Francesca's mind... she would find the name and the man that bore it and in time... perhaps she would know him and why 'he' needed to be sought out. "Come Lilia..." Her hand brushed along the silken mane of the small gray mare gently. "We have to get going... Inverness is a long way..." And so... the two left behind what they knew in search of their tomorrow.
The Grampian Mountains... Majestic within the backdrop of clouded skies and soft muses of mist that seemed to linger in effortless grace about them. They sparked the end of her journey and the beginning anew. Beyond lay Inverness Scotland and answers to questions that had been plaguing her mind for some days as she traveled. Francesca's journey had been long, tiring but without incident. God had watched over his child with great care, His angels guiding her path, His love keeping her strong and her faith in Him pushing her ever forward.
Dismounting... she would find a bit of food within her pack, nothing much really, just a simple grain bread she'd gotten along her way. The winter had yet to come fully, small tuffs of greenery were still seen here and there with which the gray mare, Lilia, did enjoy. Francesca soon swept her heavy wool cloak about her, the hood rose over her head to shield her from the strong breeze that now churned across her path. The line of trees to the North wasn't far, she thought of staying secluded within them for the evening but it was cold. Lilia shifted to the left, then the right before her head popped up from the soft grasses she'd been eating and remained very still. Her ears flicked and turned as if trying to bring into range... sounds. It was then Francesca turned and looking behind whence she came, three dark riders approached. Their figures, their features and their intent unknown. She'd seen virtually no one upon her journey until now.
The Riders... Dark cloaks snapped within the wind behind them as they pushed onward toward the small woman and her old gray mare, the closer they came the faster they rode. The clatter of hoof and stride of sinewed flesh pushed by an internal rage and desire drew them ever closer.
Shouts could be heard yet not made out and soon Francesca felt a cold chill run up along her delicate spine. "I think it's time we go Lilia..." said in quiet fear. Mounting quickly, she gave a last look behind her, the Dark riders gaining ground upon her.
With a snap of reign and blunt nudge of heels the gray mare took off in a lurching gallop yet her speed and age was no match for the seasoned riders and their heavy mounts drawing ever closer.
"HALT!" One of the men bellowed. "I SAY AGAIN! HALT!" Again his deep voice boomed across the ever closing distance between the young woman and the Dark Riders.
Francesca held tight to the reigns, leaning forward as the wind began to whip about her. The hood of her cloak snatched from her head, her dark curls spilling in tumbles from it's updo till they snapped in whip like fashion behind her. Tears began to form and dribble from her eyes across alabaster cheeks that were now becoming tinged pink from the cold wind kissing against them. "Courez la course de Lilia !" (Run Lilia run!) She pushed the small mare hard, harder than she could move and soon the mature mount began to lag... drawing those in pursuit ever closer. "Aide! Aidez-moi !" (Help! Help me!)
Crossbow... The heavy bolt of surging steel soon struck its target. Lilia faltered, the sharp whiney breaking voice into the air as puffs of white came from her nostrils, her hot breath meeting the cold air she was heaving in deep within her lungs. Blood began to tinge the dull gray coat of the small mare.
"Non! Lilia! Non!" (No! Lilia! No!) Francesca's voice cried out in horror knowing that Lilia was in great pain. "Laissez-nous seuls !" (Leave us alone!) spouted between plump tears now quivering in utter fear toward those now within earshot.
The Bolt... Yet another bolt pierced the flesh of the small mare yet this time in her shoulder crippling her stride. Suddenly she fell! The horse going down and the young woman atop her going down with her. Lilia's head reared up, her legs thrashing as she tried to right herself to her feet to no avail. Francesca laid upon the ground... lifeless, her hair in a chaotic mass across her face.
The Dark Riders... They slowed when they saw their quarry detained. Riding up, two paused as one proceeded forward. "We've got her now..." spoken with a grin as he dismounted. Booted feet carried him toward the young woman and the old gray mare she'd been riding. He settled about the horses’ head, his hands gripping the back of her head and her nose before a quick jerk was given... and Lilia... was no more. Her neck was snapped like a twig. It was then he eyed Francesca, his tongue gathered over his lips in a soft lick. "We've been tracking you for days..." Said in quite muse to the unconscious young woman. "Finally..." said to the other riders before he began to remove his gloves in preparation to enjoy the fruits of their labor.
The Winter Season… The air was crisp with hints of cool wind as it blew against the summer thistle making the spiked hedge wave back and forth as if it was stuck in a storm. The grass held its color while the trees had hints of gold and maroon against its leaves. The clouds pulled together allowing only short rays of sun to permeate the ground.
The meadows underneath the Grampian Mountains were a favorite place to rest. It wasn't too cold and it wasn't too hot. The temperature for Autumn was what poets spoke of in their sonnets.
The blowing wind didn't permeate the dented armor on his shoulders. Nor did it bring comfort to the half Norse, half Scotsmen under the armored helmet. His eyes closed and leaned backward against a great oak allowing himself to slide down until he found the cold ground. It wasn't so far away. Not too long now.
Had it been hours? Or had it been minutes when the subtle smell of sweetness brushed his nose? It wasn't the type of sweet that came from fruit. It was the type a woman would wear for appeal. Many crossed this path to get to the other side of the mountain. A traveling woman with her entourage wouldn't be a surprise.
Slumping over, the sword having fallen out of worn fingers, the withered soul was attempting sleep. His head lulled over to the right due to the weight on his head. The backs of his palms drooped against the dirt. His gauntleted leg sprawled straight as the other one fell to the side. The picture looked as if he was a drunkard. It was the picture of exhaustion.
The soft minute tremors against his knuckles made his head bob to the right. It was travelers. The Scotsmen drifted again until he heard the sound of a woman screaming? Was it too cliché that he would be here? The hoofs were harder. Running. Nae, charging.
'Halt?' Says who? The exhaustion faded and was being replaced with adrenaline. The steel sword was grabbed by the hilt and the sleeping warrior found his footing quickly. His horse was looking attentively in the direction of the high pitched female voice as if pointing to the danger.
"C'mon," he said darkly, pulling himself on the saddle in two swift motions. The squeeze of the mount between his legs had the equine jumping off with a start. The sword was pulled from the holster and he'd ask questions later.
The high screams in French verses the low calls in common did not make for a good picture at all. The pursuit was easy to follow when the foe rode hard and fast. The glint of crossbow firing was all he needed to see.
Even if they were knights, shooting down a defenseless horse (not disabling) made anger burn in his soul. There was no respect for life and safer ways to capture someone. They were not Scottish knights… They knew better. These did not.
second shot took the horse down and the women went too, right into the dirt. Anger covered him in the two huffs of air he took in. The switch from sane to feral happened in an instant. The rage of war turned him compassionless.
'They had her…?' He had them. Pushing the stud Mercury forward, the sword that was bequeathed on the day of knighting was drawn behind him and pressing the horse faster, came by the speaking horseman and the blade, shimmering in the Fall sunlight, caught the exact precision where man and helmet separated. In that strike, the speaking one was decapitated. The cloaked head flew spinning through the air landing with a thud.
Mercury didn't stop and he wasn't stopping him. The Scotsmen flew like lightening toward the woman. The sky eyes narrowed lowering his arm. With a yanking jerk, he snapped the damsel from her downed horse. Tossing her across the front of him for her own protection… Namely crossbows, he speared through the trees as if he was riding a clear path.
Crouching, he could hear the heartbeat of the woman in front of him… He hoped to God he picked the right side to defend. He wasn't prone to attacking first without provocation. It was the horse, and woman he'd avenge. Not their personal purpose.
The Head... it dropped like a stone as the steel blade sliced through bone and sinew as if it were mere water. Spatters of crimson spurted into the air as the remaining body jerked, trembled and then slowly fell to the ground as if a tree had been cut down. The head rolled in bumpy movements till it ended up at the feet of the two remaining Dark Riders.
Their faces? Wide eyed mouths agape at what had transpired in the blink of their cold, black eyes. "YOU THERE!" The deep baritone voice charged the air in electric anger. "COME BACK HERE!"
The two Dark Riders were off in blatant chase after the Knight and their quarry. Their pursuit slowed as the treeline was entered and attempted to keep up with the horseman with "their" woman.
"YOUR IN HERE! I CAN SMELL YOU BOY!" The gruff voice sliced through the air calling out to the Knight who'd taken the life of their Commander. Their horses steadied allowing silence to fall upon the wooded surroundings... they waited... listened.
After a few moments... "BRING HER HERE AND WE'LL LET YOU KEEP YOUR LIFE..." The dark eyes searched while ears listened.
The Sweetness... The aroma of roses as if dipped within pure honey filled the air in soft ambiance as the Knight would lean over the one he protected. Her heartbeat however quick, was steady. The young woman was not dead. Upon his lap did she lay, her form small and light and her dark hair the color of deepest chocolate that hung in messy curls hiding her features. A soft whimper pushed past lips of pink before she began to stir, if she screamed their position would be given away.
The other riders stopped at the edge of the treeline with good judgment. He too slowed the horse to a stop. Touching her back, he spoke the only words she needed to hear and that was, "Shhhh." Dismounting, and dropping down quietly to his feet, he grabbed the potato sack hanging from the side of his saddle.
Easing closer, squatting, less then ten yards, the knight reached into the sack carefully. His breathing easy, slow, careful, the slithering green animal tried to coil around his wrist. Unwrapping the beast, he eyed one of the riders and without a care, tossed the garden snack toward the unknown rider.
With any luck, the snake would bite and he'd think himself to die within minutes. Or it would miss and the horse would buck and kick its owner… Anything worth a distraction would work. He only needed those precious seconds to react.
Sounds... The woods surrounding them were deathly quiet. Nothing seemed to stir around them. They waited, watched and listened.
Hushed... "I don't hear anything. Maybe they kept going and are now out of earshot?"
The other in reply... "Couldn't be... they are in there..." said blatantly. "I know they..." Couldn't have gone far? His words cut off instantly as the green, ribbon like creature came whirling in snapping fury toward him... toward his face.
"ARRRRRRRRRRGH!!" His hands snapped to his face allowing his reigns to fall freely. He squirmed atop his mount so vigorously that the horse felt nudged as if he were ready to ride.
The horse took off like a bat out of hell, the rider, snake in hand, in mouth and wrapped about his head was thrashing to remove the beast from his flesh. The horse continued to gallop at fast pace, he missed the tree limb, the rider however, did not.
The Rider, snake and all, took a header backwards, tumbling off the ass end of the horse that continued on without his rider. There was a popping sound, a squeal and then silence. The Rider's neck had been broken with his fall.
The lone Dark Rider spun his mount about and quickly took off in the opposite direction cutting a rough path across the valley floor from whence he came. The peril was over... for the moment.
The Touch... The young women felt it, the gentle brush of fingertips. The hushing sound seemed far off in the distance as if she were asleep and dreaming. Her little gloved fingers slowly coiled into a fist as her head bobbed gently yet never rose. She seemed to be coming round... slowly. It had been a hard fall.
If he was presented with a gift from the Gods, it was those precious seconds the unknown rider struggled with the 'gift' he found on his travels. His lips pursed tight trying to hold in blatant laughter. This was one of the humors of life… Except when he saw him fall back and broke his neck.
He winced. It wasn't fair. Nothing was created equal including accidents. The fingerless leather gloved hand clutched the dagger at his side. The last was always the hardest to kill. This was when skill, training, and experience tied itself together.
Humor gone, the Scotsmen trailed closer to the rider who was watching his companion on the ground lifeless. Crouched over, he stalked toward the final rider, ready to attack to the death.
To his dismay, the last one turned on his steed and rode away. He wanted to throw the dagger at the horse. Couldn't do it. The horse's life was spared and so was its owner. The spot where the lifeless body lay was a second horse a few feet from him.
Creeping toward the animal, he held his palms up and open. "C'mon boy," getting closer then starting to hum a soft tune. "Cooooome on… boy," getting closer. The horse stirred but he didn't run. The reins were clutched and he walked the horse back to the woman. He looked about to see if the lady was still intact, in place.
The Dark Riders... They had been three yet now only one remained. His word would travel to those inclined to an audience with the woman they'd been commissioned to apprehend. Only time would tell if they would show again... in greater number.
The Unmounted... The horse was a sleek black; heavy boned and as the Knight approached, would bob his lengthy head up and down, his front leg arching at the joints before striking his hoof to the ground. He was wary. It was seen the great animal cut his eyes to the side, left and then right. His nostrils flared as he drew the Knight's scent inside himself, his tail swishing briskly. It was the song, the soft hum that drew him close, his ears shifting to tune in the Knight's greeting. The reins seized he jerked his head abruptly yet followed after some coaxing from the Knight whom now seemed to be his Master.
Pain... The small young woman stirred atop the mount she'd been left upon. She felt sore all over especially her right cheek; it had met the grass as she plummeted to the ground landing face first. Her brows furrowed over closed eyes as she coughed slightly and tried to wrap her mind about what had just happened. She was disoriented. Her slippered feet were very small as they and the pale colored stockings she wore were seen beneath the heavy black wools wrapped about her now shifting beneath her squirming. Soft tone... "Lilia?" The heavy French accent flavored the name she called. "Lilia??" Her voice was rough but even so, sweet as bee pollen on a summer wind.
Eventually time was needed to learn of the new acquired horse with its personality and capability. An early start to such an endeavor was impossible. He had a 'guest' to check on.
He let the reins of the new horse go and went around the side of his steed. She was calling someone that was not with them. The voice that hadn't been used with another human sounded gruff. "There is no Lilia," not knowing if she meant a companion or her fallen horse. "Only you," coming about the side to look at her.
She was still on her stomach. Gently grabbing her ankle, he pushed her side over so she can straddle the horse. By her tone, she was still disoriented. "Speak the locale you travel so that may help you reach your destination," the words coming heavily.
She needed to be amongst those she knew. Not traveling the land without a guard or company.
Beauty... It came in many forms. A song, a sonnet, the sky, love, joy and even times pain was beautiful... Example... childbirth. But this, this beauty was of the flesh.
As he shoved her up and onto the horse in a straddle the young woman would look down upon her savior through a mass of dark curls and as she pushed them agitatedly from her view, the warmth of heavenly sienna eyes would regard him. She searched his features and it was evident by the furrow of brow and glistening tears filling her eyes that she... did not know him.
She swept her eyes from the Knight and around till through the trees she saw Lilia, the gray mare, laying still upon the ground. "LILIA!" The young woman paid no heed to the questions given her, nor to the Knight whom saved her but scrambled down from the mount and ran without care out into the clearing and toward her only companion, her only friend.
The voice was reminiscent of the Knight's past as was the gaze that pleasured him only for a moment till she ran off.
The lady was seated, righted on the horse. And as God was his witness, he saw the beauty of his Queen… Queen Serena Lot, wife of his childhood brother at arms. It had been almost a year since he saw her last. She was with child. By now, watching her fling herself toward the horse, she'd have delivered the babe.
He bowed to one knee as she passed. Several thoughts ran through his mind; Why didn't she know me? The first ride into Inverness, he was her sworn protector. Why did she not have a small army as guard? Where was the child she delivered? Where was Agra? Why wasn't he here? Why was she here? If she wasn't in Inverness then where was she going? Why wasn't she returning in the direction of home?
Raising off his knee, he followed with both mounts at his shoulder. Kneeling beside her, he dared to look into her face again from the fallen horse. "My Queen," softer, "Serena. We have to get you to safety." He looked at the horse not recognizing it as hers. "The horse is dead. And we must go. My Queen, I can not keep you from harm if we remain in the same place." He should have killed the last rider. Compassion often bites one on the ass, which it was doing. "We must go," offering his hand. He didn't want to turn into his brute of a brother and carry her away. He wanted her to come with him of her own free will. "Please, my Queen."
Tears... like liquid diamonds; they slowly rolled down her cheeks before coming to rest in soft kiss against the gray mare's face. Her delicate arms flung about the dead animal as she sobbed in quiet pain. "Lilia... Ma Lilia douce et belle..." (My sweet beautiful Lilia.) Her fingers were jerked free of the leather that bound them as her left hand caressed the snout while uttering in sweet sorrow...
"Veuillez ne pas me laisser, votre tout que j'ai laissé." (Please do not leave me, your all I have left.) But her plea would never be heard, Francesca's horse was gone. She felt the Knight kneel beside her, his presence, his feeling of closeness drew her from her sorrow and as he spoke she sat up, her fingertips kneading the horses’ mane within her 'unadorned' left hand. She wiped her tears away and curiously looked over the Knight, his features, his build and the manner in which he knelt beside her.
Between soft whimpers as her tears slowed she inquired. "Qui… Qui êtes-vous ?" (Who... who are you?) And upon hearing the name Serena she shook her head at him, her dark curls spilling about her shoulders. "Francesca..." Her name highlighted in heavy French flair. "Mon nom est Francesca..." As he reached for her, offering his hand she refused to take it.
Listening carefully, he watched her mourn a horse he did not know. Perhaps his brother purchased this steed for her while he was absent. Either still, would she have such a bond with the animal in such a short amount of time? Why would she feel the horse is all she had left when she had a husband and child at home?
Seeing her hand, remembering the day her husband proposed and the ring he proposed with, it wasn't on her hand. Did she drop it? He'd have to scout about to find it. He couldn't return her home without her ring. The King would kill him.
His language was rusty at best. The Scotsmen was fairly knowledgeable in the basics. She asked him his name. Didn't she know? "Alazerus, My Queen. Your sworn protector." The eyes looked at him blankly with no recollection. "Do you not remember?" And why was she speaking French? The pieces were not coming together as well as he'd like them to.
"Who is Francesca? That can not be you. Your name is Serena Lot, Queen Lot to be specific," staring, confused and about to get to the bottom of this. "Why are you using this name? I am your knight."
Language... it could be a beautiful thing when spoken between two people yet a curse when neither knew what the other was saying and this seemed to be the case. Francesca has a smattering of common tongue... a smattering and that was all.
As he began to speak to her she turned away from him? She began rifling through her pack upon Lilia's side. She fumbled with the strings till they became untied and then dipping her hand in and pulling out a parchment, rolled and tied.
Perhaps this fellow could help her get to Inverness?? He'd obviously helped her safely away from those dastardly bandits! Hearing her name she turned and tapped the soft swell of feminine flesh that lay beneath thick black wool.
"Francesca..." She furrowed her brows, her succulent little lips parting, forming, and trying to come up with a bit of common although even then, it was laced thickly with French flair. "I... Francesca..." She uncoiled the parchment, the string tying it cast aside and to the grass.
Her little fingers were smooth, delicate and there were no adornments of any kind on either hand; nor, if he looked on her person. No jewelry at all. Hearing the name Serena once again she shook her head sagely. "Non Serena..." She tilted her head, her brows furrowing over lustrous eyes of warm sienna. "Qui est Serena?" (Who is Serena?) It was then she produced the parchment to him, she scooted close and leaned gently against him whilst pointing to the inkings. "Inver... ness?" Her voice was filled with a need, a beseeching to find what she looked for and whom. "Renard DeToulier?"
She blinked up at him, heavy lashes of dark silk rimming her beautiful eyes like feathers. "Trouvaille d'aide?" (Help find) There was a soft smile given and as she smiled those darling dimples marred the perfection of her cheeks. "p... please?"
Alazerus knew trickery existed on levels above comprehension. He had seen the other side of it in his brother. Did this exist in Serena too? The knight had to wrap his head around the situation. She didn't speak common that well. Her name was Francesca not Serena. She didn't have any guard. The baby wasn't with her nor was her husband. The Queen knew many and it was surprising that she didn't remember him.
'Non Serena.' She was telling him the truth. Could this be possible? This was not Serena? Could this be trickery? Serena wouldn't lie to him like this. "Serena is the Queen of Inverness. Serena est Reine de la Inverness. (Queen)."
"Inverness is our," stopping to rethink it. "Inverness is home." French. "Home. Maison." He looked at her parchment that she presented. He looked at the name. He didn't know Renard. Who is this person? "Yes, I will help..."
The Priests would be disappointed he didn't keep with his language lessons. "Oui," the sounding coming ragged. "Je vous aiderai trouver." (Yes, I will help you find him.) Placing the scroll in her possession, he would seek the bottom of this.
"Francesca," going with what she told him. "Mon?" hoping that's right. "Mon nom est Alazerus. Your protector?" No, that doesn't work. "Uhm.. Je suis votre protecteur." (I am your protector.) "We will go to Inverness." Thinking again, "Traveleur Inverness for Renard DeToulier. Jes?" offering his hand to her again, using the other to point in the direction of Grampian Mountains. "Inverness."
"C'est très passionnant !" (That is very exciting!) regarding Serena and her being a Queen. She tilted her head and with that tilt came a cascade of dark curls tumbling down over her shoulder and of course his.
"Mais pourquoi est-ce vous m'appellent-il Serena? Je ne suis pas elle." (But why is it you call me Serena? I am not her.) Francesca was starting to wonder about this brave Knight. Had he been out in the sun too long? Had he endured some type of head injury where he wasn't thinking or seeing clearly?
Then agreeing to help her. "Merci!!" With that the young little darling threw her arms about the neck of the Knight and kissed both his cheeks in French flair. After which she took the parchment he offered her, in return she gave him the most darling, dazzling, brilliant smile.
As he uttered his own name, Francesca got to her small feet, her stature a mere five foot in height, and dipped low in a very elegant curtsey. "C'est un plaisir de faire votre monsieur Alazerus de connaissance !" (It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Sir Alazerus.) She would take his hand as it was offered.
"Oui! Inver... ness!" It was then she turned to look at her Lilia. A soft sigh was given as she released Alazerus' hand and dipping down, placed a chaste kiss to the horse's cheek one last time. "Au revoir ma belle Lilia… Je t'aime." (Goodbye my beautiful Lilia... I love you.)
It was then not only her journey continued but Alazerus' begun as well.
(Editors Note: This was a live action play with the SN's "FrancescaStClair" and "XTheSilentKnight" removed.)